


Lyrium's Bane

by therutherfordwife



Series: Souls Between Worlds [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: AND YOU GET A SHIP, AU, Angst, Asexual OC, EVERYONE GETS A SHIP, Elder Hawke Twins/Garrett and Marian, Evanuris, F/F, F/M, Flashfire - Freeform, Fluff, Forgotten Ones, Gen, I may have played with canon quite liberally, Ilaria Zavetnya, Kind of AU, Kirill Trevelyan, M/M, Modern Character in Thedas, POV First Person, Platonic Soulmates, Slow Burn, Solas did a bad, Thedas, YOU GET A SHIP, but also like, general mindfuckery in the beginning, i am a shipping whore, long fic, lots of ships sailing, lyrium theories, mostly ua really, past emotional abuse, the quickest of burns, the slowest of burns for real tho
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-06-06 07:35:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 24
Words: 80,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6745204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therutherfordwife/pseuds/therutherfordwife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ilaria Zavetnya was a mess of contradictions with a flair for the delightfully dramatic. Thrust into a world she's only ever imagined, she has to figure out how to survive in Thedas when not only is she from a completely different world, but she holds the secrets of forgotten empires and the rulers of the day inside her mind. What should she tell, and what should never be spoken of in light of day?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Damn It, Jim!

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Keep to the Stars](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4651176) by [MaryDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryDragon/pseuds/MaryDragon). 



> Ok . . . _keepitcoolAlyxkeepitcool_  
>  So for those of you who are here from tumblr and know how I've been freaking out about this story for like two months now, HERE IT IS!!!!!!!! *happy dance* Lyrium's Bane is officially up and running! ^.^
> 
> Obvs this is just chapter one, and this is going to be a _really_ long fic. Longest thing I've ever even attempted, so there'll be times when the story just crawls and other chapters where like twenty things happen at once but I promise we will all eventually reach the end. 
> 
> In order to do that though, here is the beginning *bows dramatically*

A sigh of relief escaped me as Mr. Bates finished his farewell speech. That the man was long-winded was common knowledge; that he could outspeak a filibustering politician was now confirmed. Oh he meant well, there was little doubt of that, but the rest of the cast and crew were aching to get on with the night. 

The farewell party was bittersweet for everyone; after all, we’d all been working together in close quarters for the better part of two years. The closing of _Les Mis_ at the Imperial Theatre was an occasion of fine wine and many a relieved (if a bit sad) sighs. The final run had been a nightmare. Murphy’s Law working its hardest to prove true as they strived valiantly to end the season on a high note. A norovirus had stricken the cast, with roughly two-thirds taking ill and the rest scrambling to fill the empty roles in the cases where the understudies had also come down sick. I was fortunate enough to both be playing a lead and somehow managing not to be sick; poor Ellie had scrambled through four separate show playing half the female characters on her own. 

Marceline found me almost as soon as Mr. Bates was done speaking, and she whisked me out to the yard where the gazebo had been draped in lights and a music drifted from the speakers hidden all around, some of those clever natural-looking bluetooth things. We giggled like mad watching Anthony try to dance with Mrs. Torres’ little girl, who was quite certain that a waltz involved spectacular lifts. Chrissie, as we all called her, was adored by the whole cast, having spent so much time backstage with her mother while we had rehearsals and even during the occasional matinee. She was utterly charming.

I would miss this. Endless days of running about each other, hollering for costume changes and straining to hear our cues and getting _very_ comfortable with each other in various states of undress. It was almost like the swim team, in that way; there was simply too much going on to worry about modesty. 

Marceline squealed in my ear as she checked her phone for the hundredth time that night. “Ow! What was that about?” I laughed. Her excitement was contagious, though, and I loved her for it. 

“He’s here. He just texted me, he’s out front. Let’s go, I want you to meet him!” It was all I could do to keep up with her as she pulled me through the house again to meet her mysterious boyfriend. It drove me to distraction, the way she talked about him; they’d been dating for months now, and she wouldn’t even tell me his name, only that they’d met after a show and he was from upstate. “Ila, you’re going to flip. Promise not to hit him?” she asked breathlessly.

“Why on earth would I hit him?”

The next moment I was swept up in a squeezing embrace, lifted entirely off my feet by a tall man with short brown hair. “Taylor!” I gasped, managing to wriggle myself enough to hug him back. “You’re Marceline’s boyfriend?” I asked as he put me down. 

Then I hit him.

“Last I checked. Was that _really_ necessary?” he rubbed his arm before being swept into a kiss from his girlfriend. 

“And neither of you thought to _tell_ me? _Your_ sister, Tay, and _your_ best friend, Marcie! I am insulted,” I said mockingly. Honestly, I was delighted. I adored my brother wholeheartedly, and since Michael’s death we had only become closer. “Does Ty know?”

“Of course Ty knows, you think I’d even be able to keep a secret like that from my own twin?” he retorted when he finally came up for air. “Brandon knows too, but Zach’s been on a rampage about his finals so he still doesn’t know. And I haven’t told mom and dad yet. They’ll find out this weekend.”

“You’re telling mom and dad?” I stared at the two of them, seeing the way he held her close. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s that serious?” There was no way to hide the shock in my voice, but fortunately they both knew me well enough not to be offended. It wasn’t that I didn’t approve, it was just that I had sort of shipped the two of them to myself for ages and couldn’t quite believe this was actually happening. I’d told Marcie about Taylor for ages and endured a seemingly endless loop of eye-rolling before she’d ever met him. Now that I thought about it, I should have realized much sooner. She’d stopped teasing me about my trying to set them up after Christmas.

Taylor grinned at me. “OTP status?”

“Definitely.” We all laughed.

A voice from inside called out. “Ila, Jaime is looking for you. Said he wants to talk about next weekend before he heads to bed.” 

“Thanks Matt, I’ll head in. Where is he?”

“Kitchen.”

“I don’t know how he intends to get any rest with all of this insanity going on. Though it was incredibly nice of him to loan us his house for the staff party,” Marcie said as I waved them away. I heard Tay ask what I was doing next weekend as I ducked back inside the house, and smiled to myself.

Jaime was standing next to the kitchen island chatting with Angie and Logan, congratulating them on their engagement while I poured myself a glass of champagne to let them finish talking. Jaime had been our choreographer. He was one of the best in New York, there was absolutely no doubt about that, and even in his late forties with half a head of grey hair he had more energy than most people half his age. As Logan and Angie left, I walked over and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Matt said you wanted to talk before you went to bed?”

“Yes, Ilaria dear, about next weekend. Have you thought about the offer I made you?”

“Of course! Not every day you find out your choreographer can get you an audition for _The Sound of Music._ ” I hesitated. “As much as I am completely honored, though, Delu and I are going to Germany next weekend. We leave Saturday, and the tickets are already purchased.” I tried to keep the disappointment out of my words. Jaime was not the sort of man who dealt well with pity of any sort.

“Ah, but you see, that’s just the thing I wanted to talk to you about. I spoke with Delu earlier, and they said your flight isn’t until the early afternoon. I know JFK is a madhouse, but I spoke to the casting director and she’ll let you in first thing. We can get you in and out before ten thirty on Saturday.”

“You’re not serious?”

“Absolutely.” He gave me a stern look. “And I expect you to properly represent my investment in your future. None of those damned Star Wars shirts you’re so fond of.”

“Only Star Trek can ever be worn in your honor, Jaime.”

“Quite right. And I expect you to remember that fact come next Saturday.”

“Of course.”

He gingerly set his own glass on the island. “If that’s settled then, I should like to retire. I am glad we had a chance to sort this out.”

“Me too, for sure. Marcie was wondering how you intend to sleep with all this chaos going on.”

He turned to make his way out of the kitchen. “With a very powerful set of earplugs and an inordinate amount of trust in you hooligans,” he called over his shoulder as I laughed.

 _The Sound of Music._ I headed out into the garden once more in search of Delu, Marcie, and my brother and resolved to keep my excitement to myself until after the audition.

 

“Ila? You’ve got to wake up, you’re going to be late to your meeting if you don’t get up now.”

I groaned into my pillow but obediently flopped myself out of bed, landing gracelessly in a heap of tangled blankets on the floor while Delu laughed.

“Who the fuck wakes up this early on a weekend?” I grumbled as I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. 

“People who have super important secret meetings downtown,” Delu informed me mercilessly. “Now hurry up, I want to make sure everything is packed before you go to whatever it is you’re doing. If you’re going to meet me at the airport, I don’t want to be missing anything.”

A quick shower and a shot of coffee and I was feeling more capable of facing the day. Flying was not my favorite method of travel, and the combination of audition nerves and travel anxiety were creating a strange feeling of almost weightless nausea in my stomach. I still hadn’t told Delu about the audition. All of my friends and family knew that the whole reason I’d gone into theatre was because of _The Sound of Music;_ I’d worn out the VHS and driven my family to insanity listening to the soundtrack on repeat for years growing up. The opportunity to actually be a part of the show on Broadway was beyond incredible to me.

After assuring Delu that everything was packed and ready, I gave them a peck on the cheek and made my way downtown. It was already swelteringly hot in the city, August having come with the intention to melt the city. Germany would be a wonderful relief from this oven.

I focused on not freaking out as I walked through the endless crowd of tourists. Even this early in the morning they were _everywhere,_ with their ridiculous selfie sticks and taking pictures of the most mundane things like it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience to see a half-naked man painted orange standing on the sidewalk. I let my anxiety mold my expression into one of complete non-fuckery and walked like I was the most important person in the world. It was a trick I’d learned from one of my professors at Juilliard; in a crowded area, walk like royalty and don’t make eye contact. If you walk like you’re going to run people over they’ll get out of the way almost one hundred percent of the time. 

She hadn’t been proven wrong yet.

The audition was being held at the Imperial, which was a God-send for me since I was so comfortable there. Jaime met me at the door with a critical eye at my shirt.  
“I see you restrained yourself from displaying The Vulgarity for the audition. The lack of true science fiction representation is disappointing, however.”

“Jaime,” I said lightly. “If you’re trying to tell me that you’re literally not wearing _the exact same design_ under that blazer of yours, you’re a dirty liar.”

He glanced down at where the Dragon Age: Inquisition symbol was just visible and grinned at me. “I knew I should have gone with the Elder Scrolls,” he muttered.

“You know, the more you try to act like you don’t care about anything but theatre, the more you give yourself away. Just be glad I’m the one who found your phone after the Halloween party, anyone else would have kept it for blackmail. I still can’t believe you had _that_ picture of Gandalf as your background; Delu thought I was having a heart attack the way I screamed, and they were so mad I wouldn’t show them!”

“For which I am infinitely grateful. I’m not sure anyone else would have appreciated the spectacle of a robeless and well-toned Mithrandir. And the face that you have been discreet with the information is much appreciated.”

“At the risk of missing out on you cursing like a sailor every time we play on multiplayer together? Yeah, not likely. Your like my favorite crotchety uncle, Jaime, the one who hates everyone else but loves me to pieces? I love you too much to give up your secrets.”

He knew how I felt, and instead of answering he merely pulled me into a tight embrace. Jaime, I knew, had had a difficult life. There wasn’t much he said, but I got the feeling that he’d already had to watch too many people he’d care for die or leave in some fashion or another, and he didn’t become close to people easily. He’d moved to New York from London just over four years ago, and despite how he loved to put on the show of being a cold-hearted taskmaster he had an underlying heart of gold. It just took a very careful and persistent digging to reach it.

We broke apart with contented grins to mirror one another. “I got here a bit early, is there anything I should pick up from the back that might have been left behind?” Everyone was supposed to have cleared out personal items last week, but in my experience something was _always_ left behind. Sure enough, he waved me to take a seat and disappeared into the back before returning with a good-sized box of items, rolling his eyes at the sight of me perched up on the bar counter.

“Reach in there and see what we’ve got. Some of it might be from old props or some such, but you would know better than I.” 

I did as he asked, shuffling through the assortment of clothes and water bottles. I recognized a few items, laying them out beside me and telling Jaime who they belonged to, but most were too innocuous. Pushing aside a heavy sweater, I felt a sharp tug against my palm and withdrew my hand with a gasp to see blood rushing out of a newly opened gash.

“Oh, hold on, let me -” Jaime quickly grabbed one of the clean rags from behind the bar and held it to my hand. “What happened?

“There must be a broken bottle or something in there. Note to self, look before you reach,” I said jokingly, wincing as he gently wiped the blood away. “We really should look into those ‘no glass water bottle’ rules like they have at the pool.”

“Life does not revolve around your swimming pools, miss Ilaria. Much as you would love them to.”

“Weren’t you the one who pointed out that every major decision in my life was made at a swimming pool?”

“I know nothing of which you speak.” He gave me a soft smile as he wrapped my hand with a bandage from the under-the-counter first aid kit. “I will say this, however; your decisions in life have made you strong, in more ways than one. Remember that, as you go on into the future. Trust yourself.” 

Something in his voice caused me to look up from my hand and into his eyes. There was an eagerness there, a strange and slightly eerie hunger that I’d never seen before. It passed in a flash, and I was left momentarily wondering if I truly knew what I’d seen when he shot the now-soiled rag over my head like a basketball for the trashcan on the far wall.

Instead of the muffled thump of the rag in the bin, there was a much quieter noise and the room exploded in an unearthly blue swirling light. Jaime’s eyes widened and I whirled around to see the mirror that stood beside the garbage alight and glowing. 

“What the hell?” I hopped down and walked across to the mirror, Jaime coming back round the bar to join me. “What did you do, Jaime? Is this some old prop or are you secretly a wizard?” I meant it to be funny, but he made no response and when I looked at him, that strange hunger was back in his eyes. Slowly, he reached out and lightly brushed a finger down the glass, only to snap his hand back when the mirror crackled.

“So close, yet still so unreachable,” he murmured under his breath. Leaning forward, he peered into the depths of the mirror. “Do you see that!” he exclaimed pointing at the glass. I bent down to inspect what he noticed and found myself pitching forward. I had just enough time to brace for impact when I felt the strangest sensation, like water and electricity both danced across my skin, and suddenly I was _through_ the mirror and tumbling into a world I would scarcely believe.


	2. From The Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ila tries to rationalize her experiences, then has a very unfortunate encounter. TW: graphic descriptions of torture and pain. If that makes you uncomfortable, please be aware. It'll be at the very end.
> 
> And hey, it's not quite Tuesday where I am but it's basically Tuesday for most everyone else ^.^

_Delu is going to kill me._

This was the first coherent thought I had as I fell practically face-first into the strangest place I’d ever seen, which, considering the fact that I’d been in swimming pool locker rooms all over the country and in the bowels of some of the oldest theatres in the world, was saying a lot. 

The thing about the lobby of the Imperial, where I’d been talking to Jaime not a minute before, was that it was perpetually dark. Not pitch black, of course, just . . . dim. All the time. Bursting straight from that to a place where it was shockingly bright (if a bit grey) meant that my eyes went into insta-water mode and I could hardly see a thing until I came to a stop. To say that I had no idea what had just happened was an understatement; had I been hit by a bus on the way to the audition? Maybe there was some sort of intense LSD in that box Jaime had brought out and now I was hallucinating vividly. It was entirely possible to my frazzled brain that I had never woken up from that coma after the car crash five years ago, and perhaps they’d just changed my meds and my mind was reacting to it in a weird way.

Except that didn’t really make sense, because I definitely recognized this place, and it wasn’t anywhere I’d seen until long after that accident. Not even my mind was crazy enough to invent a make-believe world and then occupy myself in it. No, this had to be something else, because otherwise I’d have sworn I was pasted flat on my back in the Crossroads from Dragon Age: Inquisition.

LSD was looking like quite the guilty party in this event.

Through my watering eyes, I could make out several eluvians nearby. They shimmered slightly, but didn’t have the brilliant glow that I associated with them being opened. A glance behind me confirmed that I had definitely hallucinated my way through an eluvian of my own. All right, simple enough then. Walk back out, and at least my hallucination would be placed somewhere I was actually capable of functioning in. Mostly. Just as I pushed myself back to my feet to do just that, though, the eluvian went dark.

Well, shit.

I went ahead and let myself be a bit frustrated at that. How incredibly inconsiderate of the eluvian to just close me out like that! I had things to do. If I missed meeting Delu at the airport, they were going to murder me on sight. They’d go without me, of course, but I would be in for the ass-chewing of my life when I got a hold of them, and your absolute best friend/roommate was _not_ typically a person who should ever be pissed off without an _exceptionally_ good reason. Hallucinating yourself into Dragon Age did not meet that qualification.

Ok then. If I was hallucinating, there was officially nothing I could do to bring myself out of it other than to simply wait it out. And since my mind had seen fit to drop me into the Crossroads, may as well have some fun until I woke up. At least I was comfortable; I was wearing a light pair of leggings under my short Seeker of Truth dress, and my ridiculously curly hair was already pulled back in a braid to keep it out of my face. My purse was, unfortunately, still sitting on the bar of the Imperial, along with my cellphone. My ipod, thankfully, was tucked into my bra and I went ahead and slipped it out and turned on the soundtrack to The Return of the King. Perfect adventure music for all occasions, and I absently hummed along to the Battle of Pelennor Fields.

I turned then and took a moment to actually take in my surroundings. The Crossroads were beautiful, in a semi-dreary kind of way. The bushes that dotted the rocky paths were brightly colored, but the colors were oddly muted in the grey light. And where was the light coming from, anyway?

The only way I was going to get any real fun out of this hallucination was if I got out of the Crossroads, which, considering I was not a mage, was not entirely likely to happen. I didn’t know if Fen’Harel’s password would work (tested it out once I remembered, it didn’t) and if that didn’t work then I might be stuck, but I wouldn’t know if I didn’t at least look around. Maybe I could find one of the libraries that had been scattered all over the place. I grinned at myself for that; only I would end up stuck in my perfect fantasy world and get excited about the prospect of spending time in the library. 

As I walked, I kept an eye out for any open eluvians. Maybe my brain would catch up to my hallucination and start opening things up. Couldn’t hurt to look. 

I’d just rounded a corner and found one of those weird little urn things that built bridges in the game when I heard a murmuring of voices coming from behind me. Looking up I saw a group of men and women tumbling through an eluvian much as I had just a little bit ago, on a floating platform that I assumed could be reached by using the as-yet-nonexistent bridge. There were ten or so, three men and a woman in armor, three men in plain clothes and two more men and a woman in robes. I could hear them talking back in forth with varying degrees of frustration.

“What was the point of helping that little elf bitch if she was just going to betray everyone anyway?” growled one of the armored men.

“He said she would lead us to the scion. I have every confidence in the man; after all, his warning allowed us to survive the trap in Kirkwall. We will find the scion before we find our way home, he swore it to me.” This man was vaguely familiar, with medium length grey hair and a very precisely clipped beard. He wore a robe, and I would have won ten bucks for betting he was the leader of this little crew.

“Check that the lyrium is safe, it wouldn’t do to carry it all this way only to have it drain away before we found this precious ‘scion,’” snarled the robed woman at the plainly-dressed men.

I was a bit hesitant to draw attention to myself, considering how pissy the group seemed to be on a whole, but I decided to go ahead and make my presence known.

Guess I’m just an idiot like that.

“You guys wouldn’t happen to know a way out of here, would you?” I called cheerfully across the greyness.

Their reactions were priceless. I wish I’d had my cellphone so I could capture look of sheer dumbfoundedness that blossomed beautifully across the robed woman’s face and the comical relief on the face of the man in charge. I lost the internal battle to control myself and giggled a bit hysterically at their expressions. The man was the first to recover.

“Indeed we do. I was led to believe that that eluvian there -” he gestured to an eluvian on the same platform they stood on, opposite where they’d come in “- will take us home. Are you in need of a way out of this maze?” none of the rancor he’d spoken with just moments ago could be heard anymore. Man was a born actor, I’d give him that. I hadn’t spent all those years at Juilliard and onstage in New York to not recognize when someone was putting on a show.

“Mind if I join you? I’m afraid I got a little turned around.”

“Of course, my dear. By all means.” 

“Awesome. Just let me -” I went ahead and tapped the urn thingy and watched in intense curiousity as the path literally seemed to grow out of the stones at my feet. It wasn’t like in the game, where it kind of appeared to just . . . appear, as you walked, like it was merely hidden and you were revealing it as you walked. No, it actually burst out of the ground I stood on while I gaped in astonishment. I hadn’t actually expected that to work.

The armored men and woman,who I assumed were guards of some sort, stepped forward to meet me as soon as the bridge met the platform. There is something intrinsically disconcerting about having a sword pointed at you; having three swords and an arrow made me just a tad jumpy. But hey, I was the weird girl in the Crossroads. I’d point a sword at me too.

The man in charge came forward and waved off the guards, reaching forward as if to shake my hand. “It is unusual to meet other travelers in such a place as this, my dear. What brings you to this place between places?”

“Drugs, most likely,” I joked. “I’m Ilaria -” reaching forward to take his proffered hand, I was taken aback when instead of shaking it, he clasped it in an iron grip and tugged off the bandage Jaime had put on my cut. “Wait, I’m going to bleed all over you if you do that!” I exclaimed, trying to pull my hand back.

“That is the idea.”

Dread churned in my stomach as I lifted my gaze to his eyes. 

They were red.

Shit.

The next instant, the trickle of blood from my newly-reopened wound evaporated and I found myself feeling strangely detached from my body. I seemed to watch myself tip backward in slow motion as my legs crumpled and my muscles outright refused to respond to my body. _What kind of drug makes me hallucinate a freaking blood mage?_ I’d heard of people who got high on some drug and found themselves trapped in a nightmare, I just never thought that person would be _me_. It felt like I’d been wrapped in a suffocating cocoon that dulled out the rest of the world. My body wouldn’t react in any way to anything I tried to do and my hearing was muffled. My eyes had closed as soon as I’d lost control, so there was nothing to be seen and no way to know what was going on around me.

A voice directly beside my head would have jolted me out of my skin if I’d been capable of reacting. “Years I have waited for you, my dear. I survived years of the Game in Tevinter, I survived the massacre on Seheron, and I survived Fenris’ betrayal in Kirkwall. All for the promise of this moment. What glory awaits us in your future, Ilaria! And I will guide you to your destiny myself.”

Tevinter. Seheron. Fenris. _Danarius._ Suddenly I wished I didn’t know and understand so much about Dragon Age, because then I would have no concept of what was likely to happen next. The simply dressed men had been carrying packs of lyrium, according to the robed woman. And if I was apparently the person they had been searching for, I could only imagine that they intended to use it on me.

Sure enough, mere moments later a steady chanting began to echo around me. I couldn’t make out the words, but I barely had time to realize that when the most agonizing pain I’d ever experienced in my life burst across my toes and not even the blood magic could keep the scream from bursting from my throat as I thrashed about trying to escape the pain. Cool hands grasped my cheeks and held my head steady, and I felt a tugging sensation across my body as magic was used to control my reaction. Danarius himself must have knelt at my head, for his voice was close enough to make out as he demanded the ritual continue.

It was . . . utterly indescribable. I could _feel_ the lyrium as it practically _crawled_ into my skin, inching its way up from my toes and across my feet before slowly moving up my leg at a pace that could only be described as _agonizingly slow._ My nerves were on fire, except so much worse. I was burning from the inside out. I completely understood why Fenris had lost his memories; to even consider remembering this pain for the rest of my life was nearly too much to contemplate. I fought to focus on my own memories, focus on _anything_ that would distract me from the horror of my burning body. I forgot that I was hallucinating, I forgot that this might be a dream; the only thing I knew was that I was in pain and that the pain would make me forget, so I fought to remember. Remember anything else; adopting my cat Eomer, eating at that adorable little hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant that had the best lasagna I’d ever had. Performing endless repetitions of Les Mis at the Imperial. Meeting Delu in person for the first time and hugging them so hard I’d almost broken their ribs, all while crying and babbling hysterically because we were _internet friends_ and we were _holding each other._ Seeing Michael cheering for me at the Olympic Trials, right down in front. Seeing Michael after the wreck. Waking up after the wreck in pain. Oh God, the pain, it had hurt so badly but not as badly as I hurt _now_ and God I hurt just please make it _stop_ I would do _anything_ for the pain to stop!

I was going to burn for eternity.


	3. Wait, What?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sudden awakenings and strange thoughts. Ilaria - Calliope? - adjusts to Life After Lyrium and tries to find her place in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is convoluted and confusing but in my defense, Ilaria is very convoluted and confused right now :P I would pay attention to those recurring thoughts, though, they might be important later on . . .

Light across my face from the rising sun brought me to a bleary wakefulness. My body felt raw, and I moved carefully as I stretched my tired muscles and tried to adjust my eyes to the light. Flashes of images and murmurings of conversations from my dreams trailed slowly through my mind, but there was nothing remotely coherent other than the feeling that whatever I had dreamed had been important. I was flailing my way out of the blankets when two facts made themselves incredibly relevant at roughly the same time. First off, my arm, in flinging away a blanket, caught the light and I realized I was covered in tattoos. Or at least, my arm was. The second fact was that I did not recognize the room I was in, indeed the bed I was extricating myself from was as unknown to me as the tattoos.

I didn’t remember getting tattoos. I didn’t remember going to sleep in this room. I couldn’t remember where I was or how I got here, and the more I realized how much I didn’t remember the more I fought panic as I stumbled over to a tall mirror because _I couldn’t remember who I was._ So why was I so sure the tattoos weren’t mine, the room wasn’t mine, and why was I waking up naked with no memories?

The sight of myself in the mirror was a shock. The tattoos definitely did not end with my arm; twisting and elegant strands of blue threaded their way from my head to my toes, leaving not a single part of me unmarked. The blue wound up my arms from my fingers, circling up in perfect symmetry and meeting across my collarbones before winding up and around my neck in an intricate collar that reached up with a single line across my chin to the bottom lip of my mouth. My torso (and my entire back, I was able to determine) was liberally crossed with the blue lines as well, and my legs were encircled much the same as my arms were. Across my forehead, separate from the rest of the tattoo, was a diadem-esk design that traced my brow from temple to temple, coalescing with a small point on the bridge of my nose.

I had to admit that the way they twisted along, the way they followed the lines of muscle along my body was really quite gratifying. Leaning in closer to get a better look at my face, I realized it wasn’t just my skin that was affected. A large patch of hair starting from behind and under my left ear was white. Not grey, and not bleached, but full-on white and not a reason why.

It was like the entirety of my body had been used as a canvas; it was beautiful and elegant, in a what-the-fuck-did-I-do-last-night kind of way. I found myself staring enraptured, torn between disbelief and horror when a voice from the side of the room caused me to squeak in alarm. As if the rest of the morning’s surprises weren’t enough to render me utterly terrified, when my heart rate took off every inch of blue on my body lit up like a star and I spent a moment attempting to stumble away from myself before remembering that tattoos are, in fact, attached to one’s body.

“They are beautiful, are they not?” The voice came from an older man with medium-length grey hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He wore a set of well-made robes and seemed completely unfazed by both my nudity and my sudden light show as he came to stand next to me. The fact that someone was in the room with me while I was completely naked hardly fazed me; I wasn’t sure if that was because I was too distracted by everything else going on or if it was a lack of modesty from . . . I had no idea, really. “Tell me, does the lyrium cause you pain? Fenris said it was worst in the beginning.”

“Fenris?” That name was familiar, but in the way a word is familiar while the meaning is just out of reach. Something known but not quite recalled, like a slight push will jog the memory if you just concentrate hard enough . . .

He raised an eyebrow. “Do you not remember him?” He peered closer at me for a moment. “Do you remember who I am? What happened last week?” I could only shake my head.. _Last week? How long have I been unconscious?_ He reached behind the mirror to retrieve a robe for me to wrap myself in before indicating that I take a seat on a couch nearby. I sat gingerly, for the first time taking in the room around me, noting the sheer lavishness and comfort. The couch was situated in front of a large fireplace opposite a wall completely covered in windows, outside of which seemed to be a balcony. The bed rested in a corner to the left of the fire, the mirror by the bed. There wasn’t much I seemed to be able to pull from my memory at the moment, but I was fairly certain that this was the single most incredible place I had ever woken up in.

“Calliope?” The man once again interrupted my reverie. “Are you alright?” 

“Um,” I swallowed, trying to ignore the lump of distress lodged in my throat. “I don’t know, honestly. I can’t seem to remember . . . anything, really.” There was a surge of relief when he called me Calliope; that must be my name, right? How could I have forgotten? I didn’t quite _feel_ like a Calliope, but I also didn’t really feel quite like anyone at the moment. In the back of my mind I wondered how much of a person’s name relied on their situation.

“Unfortunately, that’s as to be expected. Lyrium is not quite an exact science. I am Danarius; your name is Calliope, and you are my very distant cousin and the only potential heir to my estates.” Oh. That made . . . sense. _Danarius_ was familiar like ‘Fenris’ had been, if less intensely. I had no idea what estates he was talking about, however. “There have been . . . threats, made recently, against your safety in particular. As I am the foremost lyrium expert in the world, and my experiments have enabled me to graft the lyrium into a person’s body,” he indicated my markings, “it was decided that we would take steps to allow you to defend yourself. Eventually, as you train, you will be able to use the lyrium to phase your body partly into the Fade and allow yourself to pass through solid objects at will. We agreed that you needed protection of your own, as you are not a mage and cannot always be kept under supervision.” 

I sat back, releasing a long breath as I absorbed what Danarius told me. We were cousins? If the relationship was so distant, why was I his only potential heir? Obviously he was an important man. And the threats? What threats? Though, being able to walk through walls was definitely a good way to run from danger. What sort of threat would have convinced me to go through a process so obviously life-changing? “Why can’t I remember any of this?” I demanded.

His gaze was hawk-like as he catalogued my reaction. It would have been almost creepy, except I was definitely aware of how potentially dangerous I was in the current situation. I’d be watching me closely too. “It is a side-effect of the lyrium. The process of grafting the markings is . . . traumatic, to say the least. It takes hours, and the spells are ancient and require a form of blood magic similar to the art the Dalish use to tattoo their Vallaslin. The lyrium isn’t just a tattoo; it’s part of your very essence now, indistinguishable from the rest of you.”

“And the pain is normal?”

Danarius seemed surprised at the question. “Yes. Fenris often spoke of it like a burn, his skin becoming so sensitive that any touch felt like fire. It will become more manageable in time, and eventually will only bother you when you are in physical contact with another living creature.”

So no ‘touching’ reunions. Part of me ached at the thought of physical touch being painful for the rest of my life, but I pushed the thought aside for now. “Will my memories return?”

“It is possible, but unlikely. I don’t believe Fenris ever recovered his memories.” He seemed to hesitate a moment, then spoke a string of words in a completely different language. I merely stared at him in growing confusion. He sighed again. “We have a busy few months ahead of us, my dear. Come, we will go and establish what needs to be re-learned.” 

I paused briefly as I rose to my feet, glancing down. “Can I put on clothes first?” I couldn’t keep the anxiety out of my voice. I completely trusted Danarius; despite the fact that I couldn’t actually remember the man, he put me at ease simply by being there. But to meet other people, people I’d possibly known for years and couldn’t remember? I had no doubt that I’d inadvertently be hurting several people in the time to come and that was not something I wanted to experience while only clad in a bathrobe.

“Of course,” he smiled at me. “Your clothes are in the wardrobe. I’ll be waiting in the hall when you’re ready.”

“Thank you,” I breathed, darting to the wardrobe. As he moved to the door, I turned quickly and asked a nervous question. “I’m sorry, but . . . what did I call you? Before? Just . . . Danarius?”

The question caught him off guard, and it was a long moment before he responded. “You called me ‘Uncle.’” I raised an eyebrow, and he chuckled. “I am quite a bit older than you, my dear, and the relationship is distant enough that ‘uncle’ is an unremarkable statement. Now, please hurry and get dressed. We have much to do today!” And with that, he swept from the room, leaving me in a daze as to what the fuck had just happened to my life.

 

The next several weeks passed in a haze of continuous ‘information overload.’ I was re-introduced to the staff of the manse (a manse! I could hardly believe it), taken in by a thoroughly dishevelled-seeming tutor who was in virtual apoplexy over my lack of substantial knowledge. He did give me high praise for my Tevene, however, stating that I spoke it better than anyone he had ever met. My complete lack of Common was almost enough to give him a heart attack, however, and he settled for a mere three hours every morning after breakfast stuffing as much of the language into my head as possible. By the end of my first six weeks since my procedure, I was forbidden from speaking Tevene at all in favor of the continual practice in Common speeding up my learning.

Uncle had wasted no time in getting me back into the routine of the estate just outside of Val Dorma. When I finished my lessons with Gerald, I ensconced myself with our housekeeper and seneschal and helped decide about the various needs of the estate, what we needed to order for food and who in the household needed to be shuffled to prevent major personality conflicts. Uncle was delighted to find that I had apparently lost very little of my common sense, and while it did take me several weeks to overcome the inevitable awkwardness with Ivana and Plutonius, we were an efficient team.

After meeting with them, I usually dined with Uncle, and after lunch I was given straight to Alberich, the guard captain. Part of the reasoning behind my being given lyrium was the need to have some way to protect myself against Uncle’s enemies, a goal that would ultimately be useless if I didn’t learn how to fight. The first few days he’d merely put me through my paces, making me run until I collapsed, do an endless amount of push-ups which, thank the Maker, I turned out to be exceptionally good at. Running? Not so much.

Alberich determined that I probably did not have the stamina to make an exceptional warrior and I was not going to argue with a man twice my size who went around with a mace attached to his hip. And since my biggest threat was most likely assassination from close proximity, he decided my time would be best spent learning a mixture of hand-to-hand and knife defense. The one argument I did win with the man regarding my training was the desire to learn archery; from the moment I laid eyes on the arsenal of weaponry in the armory, I was drawn to those elegant bows and their beautiful curved lines. 

“I want to learn archery.” I said stubbornly.

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Alberich snorted. “Because your uncle has not spent so much effort on providing for your safety that he means you to be involved with any serious fighting. You will be well enough by the time I am finished with you that you will either save yourself outright or defend long enough for help to come. There is no need for you to learn the use of a bow.”

“What if I’m somewhere where the attacker can stay at a distance? What if there is some other sort of attack on the estate, one where we are forced to defend the walls? I would be better able to help if I could fight from afar. If you’re going to train me anyway, why not at least make me as useful as possible?” I argued. 

“No.”

“Alberich! Please?”

“No!”

Imagine my surprise when, not two days later, he’d pulled me into the armory and had me test several of the bows. He’d laughed outright at my shock.

“I spoke with your uncle and told him your arguments. He does not necessarily agree with your arguments, but can see how a more diverse training can benefit you in the future.”

I was so giddy after that that Alberich had been hard-pressed to keep my concentration, finally threatening to end the lessons before they even began if I didn’t focus. I reigned myself in by sheer force of will and revelled in the soreness of my arms and back and the stiffness of my fingers as my body learned to make the best use of it’s new accessory. And while I certainly wasn’t the best, I quickly became at least adept and the target became a further and further thing.

My training usually ended roughly an hour before dinner, allowing me to clean myself up before the nightly ritual of etiquette. This was another area where I was actually fairly well off; I didn’t outright remember many of the rules, but it felt more like I was being reminded than actually learning something new. Miss Eustacia was the harshest of my taskmasters, suffering no breach of proper composure while at the dinner table, nor indeed anywhere else we happened upon each other. The only area she found no fault in was my posture, thank goodness.

The time after dinner was spent with Uncle. We spoke of what I had learned that day, what my plans were for tomorrow, and the general affairs of the estate. He began my learning of lyrium, teaching me of his research and showing me the spells he'd found to implant it in someone's skin. He was the one who also started training me in how to use my tattoos as a weapon, since it required a mental focus similar to how a mage used their mana. By the end of the first two months, I could light the tattoos on a whim and keep them dark through sheer force of effort when I was upset, and by the time I'd had them six months I was phasing myself out of solidity with intensely concentrated effort. It was the strangest feeling, like the lyrium itself was pulling the rest of my body in and out of two different places. Uncle was pleased the first time I managed it, and ecstatic when I managed to hold onto the near-incorporealness for more than a few seconds. That was when Alberich began having me learn to hold that concentration while sparring, training me as my own weapon.

Uncle was also my tutor in politics and we often played the game of what-if.

“What if the Archon were to have his carriage break down outside the estate? Do we invite him to tea and offer to have his carriage fixed? Or do we pretend not to notice such an embarrassing situation? What if it wasn’t the Archon? What if it was an enemy? Do we attack, or offer aid, or simply ignore them? If we help them, who might take notice? How will this affect our relationships with other Houses? Do we wish for a reputation of ruthlessness or one of unpredictability?”

The questions were endless, and didn’t stop until I could answer the night’s topics without hesitation. Sometimes it was almost easy, and we parted ways before the sun had even set and I was able to spend some time doing as I wished. Other nights we spoke until dawn traced the horizon, both of us frustrated at the lack of progress or, more rarely, entirely too interested in the conversation to let it die.

It was during these evenings that I discovered that I really had very little in common with my uncle. He often advocated the harsher of any given options, choosing to rely on intimidation than diplomacy. I would rather avoid not only the current hypothetical confrontation, but do so in a way that didn’t encourage future conflicts. I didn’t understand why he refused to see the benefit of a less drastic actions. Surely he had to see that assuming everyone was an enemy was the quickest way to make enemies?

I usually gave up on this line of thought after the eighth glowering silence and focused on finding the answers he was looking for. Really, it cost me nothing to appease Uncle, and I always wanted so badly to make sure he was pleased. This night, fortunately, we hadn’t had cause to argue. He hadn’t even asked me about anything political, choosing instead to go over purely household matters. The change in routine had me slightly on edge, and when he tented his fingers and leaned back to consider me for several long minutes I felt my hair stand on end. 

“I have received a letter from the Archon.”

My stomach dropped into my feet. I knew he’d been exchanging letters with the Archon for some time now, attempting to clear the obstacles he faced in having me named as his heir since I wasn’t a mage. “Oh?” I asked, not trusting my rudimentary Common to communicate my curiosity and distress.

Uncle’s gaze did not waver. “He has requested to meet you personally in order to congratulate you on your appointment as heir to my estates.” At this, his expression changed to one of slightly menacing pleasure.

I felt my jaw drop open. “Then . . . it is true? I will be heir?” In the back of my mind, I hadn’t actually believed it was possible. Nobility in Tevinter was entirely based on whether or not one was a mage or how closely related to a mage one was. Danarius was my distant cousin, and I was not a mage, so I hadn’t seen anything truly coming from his pursuits.

“Radonis has agreed. My power in the Imperium is vast, for the moment, and while you will never inherit my seat in the Magisterium, you will be given the title of Laetans, as you are being acknowledged as family to a mage but not truly being a mage yourself.” His grin grew positively smug. “I have even been assured that when the time comes, you will have your choice of seat in the Publicanium.”

“I thought the Publicanium is . . . chosen?” 

“The Publicanium changes much as anything in the Imperium does; at the will of the Archon. When it is known that you are ready, he will ensure that you are elected. You will still be lesser than the Magisters, and even the Altus’, but you will be one of the highest ranked Soporati in Tevinter.”

When I was silent, he leaned forward and gestured in annoyance for me to speak. “Well, Calliope? Is this not delightful news?”

“Why me?” I took the opportunity to ask, again, the question that plagued me every day. “Why are you doing this for me, Uncle? You say you found me with nothing, and you offer me everything. You give me home, safety, make me heir, teach me and I do not know why!” I didn’t want to seem ungrateful, but it almost felt like _too much._ Everything I had learned about the man in front of me since waking up after the lyrium had been implanted said that he did nothing that did not benefit him directly, and I could not see any way this benefited him. Not really. Not in a way that anyone else wouldn’t have been capable of supplying. All he had to do was adopt a true mage, and everything could be given to them. So why was he giving it all to some distant cousin he’d found in the backwaters of the Imperium?

Usually he brushed the question off, telling me that there were things in motion I would not understand. This time, however, he sat back in his chair and while revelling in his victory seemed content to give me a real answer. “Everything in the Imperium exists in a state of constant upheaval. Change comes, as I said, at the will of the Archon. The Qunari continue to wash against us like an inevitable tide, mages are born to slaves, and around us the world moves forward, uncaring to our problems. I have tried in vain for years to solidify a part of this empire enough to be able to make ready for what is to come. I do not know if my efforts will have been in vain or not, and someday I will explain the entirety of the truth to you, but for now be content to know that you are in a position to help me change the world, Calliope, and there is no other I would have in your place.”

Tears pricked my eyes. It was the closest he’d yet come to saying I meant more to him that just as his heir. “I trust you, Uncle. Thank you for trusting me.” He inclined his head, and with that he rose and led me from the office. “When will we meet Archon Radonis?”

“He will be journeying here on his way to visit the Warden Commander at Weisshaupt. We will, of course, be holding a gala in his honor and you will be introduced to my contemporaries at that time.” He gave me a pointed stare. “I expect you to conduct yourself with the utmost decorum throughout the evening, as your actions will sway how you are regarded in the future. He has set his arrival for First Day.”

“Two weeks?” The horror must have been plain on my face at the thought of things happening so quickly, but Uncle merely laughed.

“Don’t worry yourself, my dear. I have the utmost faith in your ability to survive one night amongst Magisters. And you will be by my side, in the eye of the Archon, where none will dare aim their daggers.” 

I wasn’t entirely sure how comforting that was, but I trusted Uncle. “Go,” he said. “Rest well. These next few days will be a strain on your already busy schedule. There is always more to learn!”

 _Yes there is,_ I thought as I collapsed into my bed a while later. _And I will learn it all before I disappoint you, Uncle._


	4. These Are Not The Droids You're Looking For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calliope faces difficult questions and finds out that these aren't the answers she was looking for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am _so sorry_ this is late, I meant to post it last night but yesterday at work was hectic and then I had practice (gotta do good at nationals this summer) and I got home and pretty much passed out. But it's up now so YAY!!! Back to our regularly scheduled broadcast ^.^
> 
> OH! Dialogue in italics is Tevene, everything else is Common.

I awoke with a gasp. Bedsheets flew in every direction as I tumbled to the ground, desperate to free myself from the choking blankets and give myself some room to breathe. The room glowed faintly blue as I fell to the floor, the lyrium suffused throughout my body reacting to my thundering heart and fear. A nightmare, then. Frankly, it was becoming a theme. It seemed that since the lyrium, I had yet to wake up peacefully. Alberich said the nightmares probably came from old memories trying to fight to the surface of my mind, but if that were true why did they leave me shaken and sweating? What was I trying to remember that was so terrifying?

I rubbed angrily at my eyes, trying to push away the images that I couldn’t even properly recall. So much still didn’t make _sense._ Why did I still wake up with nightmares, months after the lyrium was implanted? Why had I lost all of my knowledge of Kingspeak, but none of my Tevene? I hadn’t even been able to _read,_ though thankfully that had proved easy to re-learn. Once I had the letters again, it was only a matter of sounding out the words. But I would lose myself in thought sometimes, only to be jolted out of a reverie when I realized I was humming a song that no one could identify. And I still couldn’t shake the feeling that despite what Uncle had told me, no one here actually knew me at all.

Not even him.

But that was ludicrous; I trusted him implicitly. No doubt the loss of my memories had changed me; of course he wouldn’t _know_ me as well. No one would. I hardly knew herself. 

With a sigh, I pushed myself to my feet, letting the glow of lyrium fade and stepping out onto the balcony. The air was fresh and cool, the deep of night giving way to a gradual lightening of blue in the distance that heralded the coming of dawn. It would be a beautiful day, perfect for ride through the estate after training. If I could convince uncle to release me from my studies early, I might even be able to make it to that pond on the far end of the estate . . . Provided, of course, no one had told uncle about the apparent proximity of a known enemy of our house.

Yesterday Alberich, once we were done with the day’s martial training, had pulled me away from the other men-at-arms and confided in me that Fenris had been seen in Marnus Pell the week before. There was every possibility that the elf was going to make an attempt on Danarius’ life; uncle had told me of their confrontation in Kirkwall, his subsequent narrow escape and Fenris’ promise to see him dead at his hand. If I was being honest, here in the quiet of the fading night, the knowledge left me conflicted. Danarius was my closest relative, my uncle, my lord, but for some reason Fenris’ plight had struck my heart and I could not help but pray for his success. It felt . . . it felt like I _knew_ Fenris, despite never having met him that I could remember. I felt closer to him than I did to my uncle, which was, needless to say, somewhat strange all things considered.

I was missing something. I _had_ to be. And not just my memories; it was like I was wrapped in secrets, hushed conversations stopping when I entered a room, strange and calculating looks following my every move. Uncle avoided answering certain questions, like how exactly we were related and how long I’d been with him at the estate outside of Val Dorma. Something far beyond me was going on, almost like there was a whole story that I knew but couldn’t quite recall, some fact or knowledge that if it could just be found would unlock everything else. Just out of reach, like a word on the tip of my tongue . . .

I growled in frustration, glancing once more out windows at the brightening horizon and decided that day could start without me. I curled myself back into bed and was asleep before the dawn turned gold.

 

 

Nilia woke me several hours later, frantic to get me ready for the evening. In my determination to sleep in past dawn, I’d ended up sleeping nearly til noon. The gala, along with the Archon’s arrival, were meant to start early in the evening and continue until either Archon Radonis dismissed the party or the revellers simply wandered off. According to Uncle, this could happen in the early morning hours tomorrow or the gala might last through the week.

There was simply no way to tell.

I’d been thoroughly lectured on what to expect for the evening. There would be Magisters in attendance, of course, and they I was to say nothing that might offend any of them and nothing that would offer support in any particular direction. I was to be polite but vague, speak Common unless Tevene was spoken to me, and deflect any questions about myself to my uncle as I would be unable to answer most for myself. Keep track of anyone who seemed particularly interested in my lyrium, say nothing of any business that was handled at the estate, and politely offer thanks but no promises. Return all compliments but do so in a way that did not seem either overly familiar nor unnecessarily distant. As to the issue of shaking hands, I was to ignore any offered hands and instead of kissing cheeks in greeting I would merely kiss the air next to their cheek. If someone pressed the issue, I should simply move on and ignore the question. The thought of being touched, uncomfortable on the best of days, was completely horrifying now that complete strangers would be the perpetrators of any brushes of skin-to-skin.

There was no way I was going to survive this gala.

I was going to offend _someone,_ I was going to say the wrong thing to the wrong person or I was going to trip and fall on the Archon himself. Maker forbid, I was going to do something to disappoint Uncle. I’d probably immolate on the spot in shame.

By the time Nilia finished arranging me to her satisfaction, I could already hear guests arriving and being welcomed, music drifting from the ballroom that lay just at the end of hall from my room. Nilia, true to her routine, simply left without a word when she was done. I still wasn’t sure if she even _could_ speak, as she’d never once uttered a single sound while I’d been here.

Alone, I paced uncomfortably while I tried to get up the courage to join the gala. From my window I could see a line of carriages bringing more and more people for me to offend and it was all I could do not to hide under the bed. 

I had just decided to sneak down to the kitchens to steal some wine when the door to my room opened.

“Calliope? What are you still doing in here?”

I turned to face Uncle, and he must have seen my panic on my face. He strode across the room and stood before me, regarding me carefully.

“I do not think I can do this,” I whispered in shame.

“You have nothing to fear here, Calliope. You are the unknown, the new player with the favor of the Archon behind you.” His eyes lit with pleasure at that thought. “No one will dare do anything to either harm you or ruin their chance of using your position to better themselves. Come now, we must introduce you to the masses.” He turned to leave, hesitating by the door when he realized I was not following. Irritation bled into his voice. “Calliope. Come now. It is time.”

“What if I disappoint you?”

His expression calmed to speculation, and something I could only describe as victorious delight. “My dear Calliope, if you were going to disappoint me you would have done so a long time ago. You are flourishing in your studies, you will flourish in Court. The only way you would disappoint me tonight is if you did not leave this room, so _come at once._ ”

I took a deep breath and nodded slowly before following him out and down the hallway.

I fully admit, the ripple of attention that flew through the room when we appeared was gratifying. Instead of curling up into a ball of nervous sweat, I pulled my shoulders back, lifted my chin, and let what I hoped was a mysterious smile play across my lips. None of these people knew me, I realized perhaps a bit belatedly, and as such they had no idea what to expect. I could pretend to be whoever I wished, and none of them would have any way of knowing that the person they were meeting might not actually be the real _me_. With that thought I felt the tension leave my body and I plunged eagerly into the intrigue that made up the majority of the Magisterium.

Once Uncle was satisfied that I wasn’t going to bolt at the first opportunity, he abandoned me to the masses. I met so many men and women in the first hour alone that I despaired of ever remembering their names. And the questions! Endless questions from endless mouths, one after another with barely time to answer, let alone think of the proper response. I found it best to ignore any question that I didn’t know the answer to, and thanked whatever gods were watching over me that most of the questions were fairly simple and thus did not require me to embarrass myself with my rudimentary Common.

“Has your hair always had the lock of white?”

“No, I do not think -”

“Calliope, have you hear about -”

“Um, yes, Uncle and I -”

“Are your tattoos _really_ made of lyrium?”

“Yes, but you will have to ask Uncle if -”

“My dear, who did your hair? It’s quite elegant.”

“Nilia, she is -”

“Your voice is beautiful, do you sing?”

“Yes!”

As soon as I uttered that infernal word, I clapped a hand over my mouth and could feel the blaze of heat on my cheeks. Why, why did I say yes? The questions had been coming so quickly, I’d been overwhelmed and not thinking clearly and the question had jumped at me and _yes_ had popped out before I could catch it. I could not ever remember singing a single word in all my time here, and now that I thought about it I realized I’d never even heard any music. The idea seemed . . . wrong, in a way I didn’t understand. But now that music had become the focus of everyone around me, I let myself get lost in the rhythm of the ensemble performing at the end of the hall.

“Surely you would not tease us with so effusive an answer and not prove your boast?” asked a particularly beautiful blonde woman from my left. I met her gaze with wide eyes, caught by my own over-eager tongue. I could see Uncle moving toward us, apparently noting my distress and moving to interfere and for once I did not want his protection. There was a challenge in this woman’s face, and I wanted to prove that I was as good as my word.

“I will sing for you, Magister . . . ?”

“Maevaris. Magister Maevaris Tilani. Please, by all means my dear. I am curious to see what sort of prize Danarius has conjured for us to squabble over.” The intensity behind her words only fueled my desire to prove myself, especially when her name had produced the same thrill of recognition as Fenris. I knew this woman, somehow, and I wanted desperately to earn her approval.

Without another word, I turned and made my way through the crowd until I came to the platform that held the musicians. Magister Tilani had followed me, of course, and stood some feet away while I waited for them to finish their current song and start a new one. I didn’t think to warn them what I planned to do, but in my defense I wasn’t entirely sure what would happen when I opened my mouth to sing.

There was no song in Thedas that I knew to sing, but a simple aria wound into the music was sufficient to bring all conversation and movement throughout the room to a halt. I sang no words, just a soft ‘ah’ that I wound in and around the musician’s notes in an easy harmony. Part of me revelled in the realization that this must be a piece of my past that I’d somehow reclaimed, not just my body remembering how to sing, but the fact that I even knew to call the song an aria was almost enough to have me in tears, but the open shock on Magister Tilani’s face was enough to keep them at bay. If I was going to win this quiet altercation, I was going to do it with as much flair as possible.

When the music finally ended, I let the last of the notes fade away softly into the air and the room erupted in thunderous applause. I gave a small curtsy of thanks to the room before stepping as gracefully as possible towards Maevaris. “Am I proved, Magister?”

“If I’d known all it took to silence a room of Magisters was a beautiful woman singing, I’d have flooded the Magisterium floor with them ages ago. Tell me, would you be interested in doing that again? With less improvisation though next time, I’m afraid not everyone in the Imperium is capable of understanding the nuances of music or the musically gifted,” interrupted a handsome man with dark hair. He offered me a glass of wine which I tried not to appear too eager to accept.

Maevaris laughed. “Darling, the day you understand the nuances of music is the day your father receives you with open arms.” She tweaked his mustache gleefully. “Though I suppose I should be grateful that his stupidity drove you away; otherwise who else would agree to accompany me to events such as this?”

“Surely no one who values their sanity,” he grumbled. Then his attention returned to me. “Tell me, is there a particular _reason_ you’re staring at me so intently? I’m dashing, but not quite as interesting as you seem to find me.”

I started. He was right, I had been staring far too rudely at him. But the familiarity I felt for Fenris and Maevaris was _nothing_ compared to the unshakeable belief that I _knew_ this man. “I am sorry, it is just . . . we have met before, have we not?”

The man exchanged a look with Maevaris. “No, we have not. I’m sure I would have remembered someone as prone toward dramatics as myself, not to mention those impeccable teeth. I am Dorian, of House Pavus. Disappointment extraordinaire, the pariah of the Imperium.”

“Dorian . . .” I knew him. I would swear it on my own life that I knew this man and trusted him implicitly. Yet he didn’t seem to be lying; he did not know me. A pounding was beginning to beat sharply at my temples.

“No one here has ever met you, nor indeed even seen you until tonight. There was not even a whisper of your existence until mere months ago. Surely you can understand the sheer fascination with the woman whom even the Archon wishes to elevate when she’s a completely unknown element?” Maevaris raised an eyebrow at my confusion.

“Calliope! It is time to greet our most esteemed guest of the evening.” Uncle eyed Dorian and Maevaris distastefully. “There’s no need to feel obligated into keeping conversation with such . . . _progressive_ friends when the Archon wants to meet you. Come, my dear, he is waiting.”

I was swept away with only enough time to shoot an apologetic glance back at the two mages. Maevaris was watching me be led away, but Dorian had disappeared back among the other nobles. I regretted losing the opportunity to potentially gain some real answers. Most everyone else I’d met only wanted to ask, not answer, and I had frighteningly few answers to give.

_”So, this is the Laetan Calliope. A pleasure to meet the relative of my revered friend Danarius, especially one so beautiful and talented as you.”_ Archon Radonis, to my everlasting thanks, spoke Tevene. I answered in kind with as regal a curtsy as I could manage.

_“You honor me, your Reverence, both with your kind words and your support of my inheritance. The pleasure in this meeting is mine.”_

While his face remained mostly impassive, I could see a glimmer in his eyes. A mix of greed and pleasure that had me suppressing a shudder. _”And so well-spoken. I had not thought to hear such fluent Tevene from any but the most esteemed scholars or oldest of the noble families. Danarius, you did not tell me your cousin was so well learned,”_ he said with just a hint of reproach.

Uncle laughed. _”We all have our little secrets, your Reverence. And does not this surprise make her even more delightful?”_ Suddenly I felt . . . cheapened. It was not fair to say that Uncle loved me, not in the sense of a father loving a daughter or even really an uncle loving a niece. I’d always been a pawn to him in a game I didn’t understand, but I still had always felt that there was a level of concern he held for me. Something about the _way_ he was talking about me to the Archon was setting off little alarm bells in my head, peals of anxiety that said _you are nothing but a tool._

For the first time that whole evening I wanted to escape the claustrophobic atmosphere of the gala.

_”Even so,”_ purred Radonis. _”Danarius, why don’t you and I retire for the evening to discuss your trade proposal? I find myself more interested in the details now that I am aware of how fortunate your House is becoming.”_

Uncle bowed. _”Of course. Calliope, entertain our guests for the time being. I will find you when the Archon and I are done speaking.”_

I forced a smile. _”As you say, Uncle.”_ I curtsied to Radonis as he and my uncle swept from the room.

With Uncle out of the room, I felt deflated, like I couldn’t catch enough breath. Ignoring the men and women who pressed forward to ask about my encounter with the Archon, I made my way out into the garden behind the manse and away from the overwhelming truth that _I didn’t have a clue what was going on in my life._ I knew nothing, and no one, could not remember where I came from or who my parents were and hadn’t even recalled my own _name_ before Uncle had -

“‘The process of implanting the lyrium is agonizing for the recipient, making the recipient momentarily far more biddable with the possible side-effect of profound memory loss. Steps can be taken to ensure the recipient has greater or lesser side-effects, such as more extensive implantations to create a ‘blank slate’ warrior, one who will remember nothing previous to the implantation.’ A note in the margin says ‘The experiment was a complete success. She remembers nothing.’”

Maevaris moved into my view, a leather notebook open in her hands. I recognized Uncle’s handwriting immediately. “Where did you get that?”

She ignored my question. “So tell me, _Calliope,_ what do you remember of your life before lyrium clouded your memory?” 

“Nothing,” I whispered.

“Nothing at all?” One eyebrow elegantly arched in doubt. “And you never thought to question your cousin about that?”

I questioned it. I questioned it every day, every waking moment. I just never _said_ anything about it. And for the first time, I truly asked myself why that was.

Maevaris took my silence as an opportunity to continue reading. “‘When she finally woke, careful inquiry revealed she had indeed lost much, if not all of her memory. I find it strange still that she speaks such fluent Tevene, better even than I. Often when I am explaining something, she will interrupt with knowledge of her own that I would not expect her to have. She knew who Fenris was without explanation (in the most general sense) and has never needed clarification on Kirkwall, knowing both where it is located and it’s usual climate of desperation. She reacts strongly to mentions of the rulers of Ferelden, but when pressed cannot tell me why. She knows of the Fade, magic, and lyrium, while I was under the impression that none of these occurred in her world. Perhaps I was too hasty in the implantation; I want more now for answers than a puppet.’” She snapped the book closed. “In. Her. World. What does that mean, Calliope?”

The ache in my temples was spreading down the base of my skull and pounding down my spine. I clenched my hands and shut my eyes against the pain. “I . . . I do not know.”

“I refuse to believe you know _nothing._ Too long have I striven to outmaneuver Danarius in his schemes for power, and suddenly he has you and his favor turns like the tide. Are you truly the puppet he describes? Or are you the actress that would have us believe you are nothing but a pawn while you hold the dagger to our throats?” Electricity sparked along her blonde hair, giving her a wild and dangerous look and causing shadows to flick across her face. She reached out and grabbed my hand roughly, and I cried out in pain as she pulled me so our faces were separated by mere inches. 

“Tell me about Ilaria.”

The pain shattered. It felt like I’d suddenly burst into a thousand tiny pieces, each one containing some aspect of who I thought I was, the pieces having been arranged previously by a blind man. The puzzle was correct, but assembled backwards. At the mention of Ilaria, though, the puzzle flew apart and now I was able to see where all the pieces were supposed to be. It was the singularly most odd and mentally exhausting moment of my life, and I didn’t realize I was screaming until the shock of electricity brought me back to myself.

I exploded with light and pulled away from Maevaris - _Mae_ \- by phasing through her grasp. There was far too much going on in my brain as I struggled to recall the last thing that had happened before waking up in the manse for the first time. I remembered . . . the party. Jaime’s house and the rest of the cast and crew from Les Mis. _Germany!_ I had been about to go to Germany, with Delu -

The mirror. The _Crossroads._ Thinking I was high, thinking I was sick. But that was _months_ ago.

_What the fuck was going on?_

Mae was watching me in shock, obviously unprepared for such a dramatic reaction to her question. My brain felt like Internet Explorer with too many tabs open and all of them were playing different music from that one ad you just could never find. There was too much going on here for me to handle, but before I could fly to pieces both of our attentions were taken by another surprise.

Screams echoed from the gala.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ngl this chapter kinda frustrates me. Like, it's necessary, but I totally agree with Eisen in that _the lure of canon events is strong_ and I already have SO MUCH of that written and it gets SO MUCH better once they get to the Inquisition and we're SO CLOSE to that happening ^.^ Patience. Patience is a virtue (and I am an impatient person lol).


	5. What Are This?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ila tries to organize and ends up with . . . more chaos. *sigh*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LITTLE LATE AGAIN SORRY!!!!  
> So my summer schedule officially kicked off this week and it looks like Wednesdays are going to universally be easier for me to post from, since Tuesdays I'll have double shifts AND practice and I will definitely be passing out in between all of that because sleep is a thing that might need to happen occasionally? *crazy eye twitch* ANYWAY here we are again, this chapter is a bit short, I got mad when I went to edit and ended up cutting some stuff and moving it to the next chapter.

_System Error. “Hello? Yes, this is the IT department, what seems to be the problem? Uh huh. I see. Well let’s start with the basics. Have you tried turning it off and then on again?”_

It was one of the worst running jokes of the last few years, but it was all I could think about as I followed Mae back into the manse. Fleeing people were streaming past us, and I lost sight of Mae in the chaos and focused on holding on to the _here_ and _now_ as my mind felt like it was splitting in two. Falling apart at the seams was no longer an option, though; I could feel the war inside of me. _Calliope_ fought with _Ilaria_ , and neither was entirely sure which one was the truth. Was I truly from another world, and had merely lost my memories? Or was I from this world, and experiencing some strange magic cast by Mae, or any other of the many Magisters here?

No time to decide. The sight within the ballroom brought me to a stunned halt.

Several bodies were strewn throughout the room, and the tang I’d come to associate with magic was heavy in the air. The bodies looked as if they had been ripped apart, and I kept myself from retching only through sheer force of will. It was horrifying. I was about to run to Uncle’s - no, _Danarius’_ \- study, when a stern voice echoed through the room. 

“Do not think to prevent his death, slave. You know not with whom you are dealing.”

That _voice._ Impossible.

I turned to see a tall, slim man in skintight black armor stalking toward me, markings across his body glowing faintly. “Fenris,” I breathed. His hair was longer now, and pulled back with a tie to hang in a loose ponytail, but other than that he looked just as he had in - the part of me that was Calliope protested vigorously against that. I forced myself to remain calm, though a thrill of excitement bubbled through me before reality reasserted itself. “I am not a slave,” I protested, unsure of what to do or say and my mind still reeling from the compounding events of the last several minutes.

“Then you serve him willingly, and thus are an ally. By the end of tonight, there will be none of you left.”

 _”You are terrifying when you’re upset, you know that?”_ I slipped into English. No, wait, Tevene? They were the same? “I did not remember myself, Fenris! The lyrium, it stole me, I did not understand -”

“And you expect me to believe that only now you are yourself? That you have seen the error of your ways only now that death is come upon you?” he snorted, deep voice growling in his chest as he spoke. “Your lies will not save you.” He advanced on me, bare feet making very final-sounding thuds on the ground as he came closer. Instinct kicked in, and to my surprise I found myself taking a deep, steadying breath before calmly opening my mouth once more.

“I expect you to believe what you will, _Leto._ ” I had no idea how he would react to what I said, nor even really any true idea of what I was going to say next. It was like a trust exercise with myself. “And I expect you will hate me no matter the truth, for I am part of something that you cannot stand. I am sorry, Fenris, but while you can destroy this place, I do not wish to be destroyed as well.”

I let go of Calliope’s restraints, letting my markings surge to life to match the blue of Fenris himself. It seemed to startle him, despite the markings having been clear on my face and arms. I didn’t stop to think. There was no way I was going to be able to fight Fenris and even remotely be able to survive, he had a lifetime of training and hatred to contend with and I had roughly five months and the current mental capacity of a squirrel on drugs. But I was a _resourceful_ squirrel. 

So I grabbed the nearest throwable item (a wine bottle, coincidentally. Part of me was _thrilled_ ) and chucked it at him, and while he was definitely not one to be totally distracted by something flying toward him, I did take the opportunity to run like hell. I let go of any inhibitions on my lyrium and threw myself through the nearest wall, hoping to lose him if he pursued. I ran through two more rooms, making sharp turns to make my escape even more confusing, and somehow ended up in Danarius’ study.

“Calliope! What -”

I didn’t hesitate. I slammed into him, all my fear and confusion and anger translating into one incredibly forceful moment where I threw him backwards and then shoved my arms into his chest, holding them there while he froze. I couldn’t meet his gaze, afraid of what I would see if I did. Would I somehow see my uncle again? If I looked into his eyes, would I be hypnotized back into Calliope like he was some kind of snake? 

“Calliope. Put me down.”

It was everything inside me not do as he said. “ _I am not Calliope,_ ” I said through gritted teeth. “What did you do to me?”

“Calliope. _Trust me._ I only want to keep you safe. Let me help you, my dear. _Trust me._ ”

His voice seemed to reverberate through my head like a bell, and I _wanted_ so badly to let the ringing take me away. I . . . I trusted him, right? Hadn’t he done everything to keep me safe, to help me transition these last few months? He’d never hurt me. He was elevating me. I let me arms slide a few inches out of his chest, leaving just my hands beneath his skin. Really, was this necessary? And it was truly incredibly gross to realize my hands were inside someone else’s chest . . .

Before my eyes, a hand that was definitely _not mine_ burst through Danarius’ head. Would have gone through mine as well, but I flinched back and fell in time to be out of reach when the hand inevitably solidified. I gaped from the floor at the mess that had been Danarius as it slid down and Fenris carefully stepped through the wall.

I screamed then. I was going to die a truly horrific death, and Fenris was the one who was going to kill me. My mind flew back to the Crossroads; if this really was a dream, something a broken mind came up with to cope with a coma or something, then I could only assume I was flatlining right now and about to die anyway. I’d never in my worst nightmares imagined how it would feel to be hunted down by Fenris in full rage; my heart was pounding harder than it ever had in my life, harder than during the Trials, harder than during my first performance at the Imperial, harder even than that God-awful car wreck. It felt like my chest was about to explode from fear. The only consolation was that I’d met Dorian earlier in the evening, even if I hadn’t truly realized how amazing that was at the time.

As if conjured by the thought, a barrier burst to life between Fenris and I, and a hand grabbed my arm and pulled me backwards. “Out, out!” Dorian shouted, tugging me into the hallway as I scrambled to my feet. I was up and running before he could say another word.

“This way!” I shouted, hoping he would be able to keep up and willing to trust me. I led him back to my room and grabbed my bow, leaving the armor behind. There was no time to change, and it wasn’t packed to go anywhere. I winced at the thought of leaving my lovely green leathers behind but knew the futility of staying to pack. There was a lovely trellis that went up the wall next to my balcony and before Dorian could make any protestations, I swung myself over the rail and scampered down.

“You really know how to show a man a good time, don’t you?” Dorian spoke over my shoulder once we were both on the ground. 

“In my defense, I am not the one who invited Fenris,” I said as I tried to catch my breath. Seriously, _running._ Fuck that. I was a swimmer, damn it! We don’t run on principle!

“Right. You know him very well, though? You called him something different in the ballroom.”

I shifted uncomfortably. “Well enough. We need to leave. I . . . I do not know the way,” I confessed.

Dorian gave me a piercing look. “You don’t know the way? To where?”

“Anywhere.” Breathe, Ila. Breathe. Take everything one moment at a time. Don’t think about home, don’t think about lyrium, don’t think about how everyone you know in the world is potentially dead. Just. Breathe.

“Well. That does cause a bit of trepidation. Let’s start with getting away from here, shall we?”

“Please.” I hated how desperate I sounded, but like I said, _Fenris_ was trying to kill me and apparently _Danarius_ had fucking _kidnapped_ and I kept realizing I had _lyrium_ markings and I was standing here with _Dorian_ and I -

_Breathe._

I realized belatedly that Dorian had been speaking while I was having a minor mental breakdown, but had fallen silent when it was obvious I wasn’t listening. “Does that happen . . . often? The whole hyperventilating-while-staring-at-random-people thing?”

“Hyper- . . . what?”

“Hyperventilating. Breathing really fast.”

“Oh. No. Just tonight, really.”

He let out an aggrieved sigh. “Alright then. Shall we?” he indicated the darkness around us. I nodded simply and he led the way out onto the grounds of the estate.

We’d gone maybe a half-mile when a sudden noise caught my attention. I’d been staring at my feet, following Dorian by sound rather than watching him, and I looked up to find him pinned to a tree with a knife at his throat by a smaller figure in dark leathers.

“My, my, what have we here? I spy an escaping magister,” the woman tsked. “And his pet lyrium warrior, I imagine? Fenris will be beside himself.”

I had my bow out and an arrow nocked within half a second, months of muscle memory coming into play with ease. “Let him go,” I said in a much calmer voice than I felt as I recognized the woman who held the dagger to his throat. _Isabela._

In the time I’d been walking behind Dorian, several things had become abundantly clear.

For lack of better explanation, I was in Thedas. I had been implanted with lyrium, and kept as a glorified pet much like Isabela referred to. During my time learning from my various tutors in the various arts, I had learned the dates and calendar months of Thedas, something I’d never really payed attention to before, and knew that it was late in the year 9:40 Dragon. Or, since today was First Day, very early in the year 9:41 Dragon. The Blight was over and done; Hawke had already been named the Champion of Kirkwall and been the catalyst for the Mage Rebellion, which was probably in full swing. If the Conclave hadn’t exploded, it would soon, and I had no real way of knowing either way since all of this happened in Ferelden and I was currently in Tevinter. I had no idea why Danarius was still alive, or what Fenris was doing here, apparently with Isabela, which also led me to wonder who else might be here. 

Somehow, in the midst of my chaotic brain, I’d come to two conclusions. First off, I could absolutely not stay in Tevinter and I could certainly not go to Kirkwall, if Fenris’ reaction to me was any indication. Second, the best chance for me to have any kind of life or protection here was with the possibly-as-yet-unformed Inquisition, which meant I needed to stay with Dorian.

This meant I needed Dorian alive, but not necessarily Isabela. Much as it pained me to admit that. I adored Isabela, but in this moment she was the enemy that Danarius had tried so hard to instill a ruthlessness against in me, and for once I was going to take his advice.

“And why should I listen to the master’s dog, little bitch?” she pressed closer to Dorian, who was eyeing me warily over her head.

“Because if you kill him, I will kill Hawke.”

“Fenris will kill you first.”

“Fenris has to catch me. Do you know how hard it is to track a lyrium ghost, Isabela?”

Her head whipped around, blade never leaving Dorian’s throat. He was, blessedly, staying silent. “How do you know who I am?”

“The same way I know who Fenris is, and who Hawke and Aveline and Sebastian and Merrill are. The same way I know what happened to your husband and your ship’s lost cargo and the same way I know where Hawke will be in just a few short months. I do not want to hurt you or Fenris, Isabela, but I will do what I have to in order to save Dorian and so help me if that means I have to kill you I will.”

I could almost see her shaking. “And just how do you intend to prove any of that?” she snarled.

“Leto, Leandra, Donnic, Prince, eluvian, Zevran, slaves. As for Hawke, that has not happened yet and I can hardly prove the future.” She didn’t move. “Isabela. If you kill him, Hawke could die anyway from the Fade. If you let me leave with Dorian, I will do everything in my power to save Hawke.”

There was a moment of intense silence where nothing and no one moved. I wasn’t even sure I was breathing. Then with a yell, Isabela threw the dagger to the side, leaving only a tiny red line where she’d barely nicked Dorian’s throat. He crumpled forward, and I was so unprepared I almost didn’t catch him. “What is wrong with him?” I asked in a panic.

“Magebane,” Isabela spat. “If you can get him away before Fenris finds you both, I will have never seen you. But,” she warned, “if I _ever_ see you again, you will have your own meeting with the Maker to attend.”

“I will keep that under . . . ugh, I will keep that in mind.” I pulled Dorian’s arm across my shoulder and hauled him up. He was conscious, barely. “Isabela?” I looked over my shoulder. She was nowhere in sight.

“I am sorry,” I whispered.


	6. That's What She Said

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long journeys and hard conversations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *remember italicized dialogue is Tevene*

“You’re not one for extensive conversation, are you?”

I jolted out of my reverie at Dorian’s question, realizing belatedly that I’d been staring into space for roughly . . . since we’d left the tiny farm we’d stumbled into last night. A glance at the sun made it clear that we were well into the afternoon now. Oops.

I shook myself and tried to formulate a response. “I am sorry, Dorian, I am . . . not? Not very . . . Ugh!” 

He flashed me a quick grin. “Not very eloquent, apparently.”

“Eloquent?”

“Well-spoken, as it were. Do you truly speak Tevene more fluently than Common?”

“Yes?”

“Fascinating.” He shook his head. “Not many do, anymore. The language has largely fallen out of use, mostly reserved for nobility who want to show off their learning with intricate conversations. I can hardly imagine being fluent.”

 _”I doubt it’s as exciting as you imagine,”_ I mumbled. English was Tevene. _Wrap your head around that, Ila,_ I thought bitterly. _You’re in Thedas speaking a useless language, Danarius adopted you, and now Fenris and Isabela and maybe Mae all want to kill you. Oh, and don’t forget the lyrium._

“My dear, if we are going to travel together, I must insist you cease this brooding you have fallen into. I abhor boring companions.”

“Where are we going?”

“To visit an old friend of mine. I think it best that we get you out of Tevinter, seeing as you’ve proven to be a target for a Tevinter-hating lyrium warrior who somehow managed to make it into a gala of Magisters and do away with several of them. And since Mae was kind enough to fill my purse before the party, we should be well-off until we reach our destination.” Dorian talked with his hands. I smiled slightly at the tiny fact; it wasn’t exactly something the games had been able to convey. It made him even more endearing.

“Why take me? Why not leave me to Fenris?”

“Why save you, you mean?” I nodded, and he thought for a moment before answering. “I’m guessing Mae showed you the journal?”

I snorted. “In a way.” An ache blossomed at the base of my skull at the thought of what she’d read to me. 

“It was I who found it. Danarius wasn’t always the most _subtle_ of men, and Mae asked for me to take a look around for any information on his new ‘pet.’ I found it in his quarters, kept right in the nightstand beside his bed.” He shook his head. “If even a small portion of what he wrote is true, then you are no evil mastermind. Tell me, is it true?”

“I . . . I am not certain. I do not believe to be from Thedas. But where I came from, how I came here?” I hesitated. “I am not Calliope, for certain. I am confused, for certain. I am very much lost, for certain.” I hated how pitiful my voice sounded, the way I couldn’t for complete sentences. If it was anyone but Dorian, I would probably not have admitted even that much. But dammit, I had always loved that man, and I was far more comfortable telling him my chaos than any other person.

“And what of these? How extensive are they?” He reached down and grasped my hand, meaning to look closely at the lyrium branded into my flesh, but I hissed at the burning pain that exploded from his touch and ripped my hand away. “What did I -”

“They burn, Dorian, they burn to touch,” I almost cried. “Please, _please_ do not do that again.”

Pity filled his face, and I turned away from having to see that. “I’m sorry, I . . . I didn’t realize. Are you alright?”

“I will be.”

“I know I’m rather late to be asking this, but if you don’t mind, what _is_ your name? I only skimmed the journal, and you are rather adamant that you aren’t ‘Calliope.’ What do I call you?”

I jumped on the topic change. “I am Ilaria. My friends call me Ila . . .” I glanced at him hopefully.

He grinned, catching on to my unspoken plea. “Then Ila you will be. Tell me, Ila, what do you know about Danarius’ plans?”

“Nothing but what Mae read,” I said slowly. “I am sorry, Dorian, but I am not of use. It is all of me to not think of him still as ‘Uncle,’” I winced.

“I can’t say I understand, but I can respect how hard this must be for you. I know he kept up a correspondence with Alexius over the last few years; perhaps he can tell us more when we get to Redcliffe.”

I froze. Dorian walked for several paces before realizing I was no longer with him, and I struggled to find the words to . . . say anything at all, really.

“I understand a fair bit of Tevene, if you need to say anything of such importance,” he offered, apparently realizing my struggle. I gave him a look of relief before jumping right in.

This was the part I was most scared of, honestly. I’d said a fair bit to Isabela to get her to let him go, but I wasn’t sure how much he’d heard or if he understood any of it. Would he believe I knew what was to happen over the next several years? That I had knowledge not only of the events, but the people involved, including himself, in the rebuilding of an Inquisition long since left behind? Especially with my being from another world. And I _still_ didn’t exactly have an explanation for _that._

 _”We’re going to see Alexius. In Redcliffe.”_ He nodded, waiting for me to continue. I drew a steadying breath. _”Alexius is in Redcliffe because of the Breach, right? Something to do with the Venatori. And he’s using time magic to manipulate events. Oh my God, Dorian, the Conclave. When did it explode?”_ I demanded. How secluded had Danarius made the estate that we hadn’t heard about any of this? Or had he simply kept _me_ in the dark?

To his credit, he only stared for half as long as I would have, and he didn’t once reach for his staff. “The Conclave, the Temple of Sacred Ashes exploded almost two months ago. Alexius _has_ joined that cult, the Venatori, and I _do_ believe he is using time magic to reach Redcliffe. He should be arriving in a week or so. How did you _know_ that?”

_”The same way I know your father is a liar and a hypocrite, you prefer men and you’ve been separated from your family for the last two years because of it.”_

I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a flurry of horrified emotion cross a person’s face before. He went red, then white, then flushed again to red before settling on an interesting shade of puce. “Explain yourself,” he said flatly.

I didn’t even try to explain this in Common. _”Where I come from, there is a . . . well, a story. About Thedas, about the Dragon Age, where we can learn about what happens and Dorian I swear I don’t understand it either, but somehow everything I learned is apparently true, and now I’m stuck in a story that I know the ending to and you were a_ character, _one of my favorite characters, but I don’t know how the story ended up in my world or how I ended up here and I’m still not entirely sure I’m not hallucinating the whole thing or that I’m not in a coma somewhere and this is the most realistically elaborate dream_ ever.”

“A story,” he finally said skeptically. I nodded. “Alright. And I was a character? One of your favorite characters?” Another nod. “Tell me something no one else would know. Something I would not have told to just anyone. You must know something like that, Ilaria. Prove it.” Flames crackled on his fingertips, and I inadvertently took a step back.

“Dorian, I do not think -”

“ _Prove it!_ ”

“Rilienus would have said yes!”

I regretted it the instant the words left my mouth. The licks of flame in his hands wisped away instantly, and he looked . . . shattered. “Dorian, I am sorry, please, I am so sorry, I should not have -”

He held up a hand to cut me off. “I insisted,” he said softly, all levity gone from his voice. “I cannot imagine any way you would have to know that name or what your words could have meant without my telling you directly. I am still skeptical, but I will accept that you believe what you say to be true and I admit you do seem to know more about me than is easily acceptable.” His gaze was far away for a long moment before he shook himself and started moving again. “Let’s keep moving, shall we?” He said brightly. “We have a long way to go before Redcliffe.”

I watched him go in concern before hurrying after him. A long way to go indeed.

 

 

By the end of that day, I was infinitely glad to the farmer we’d found the night before for giving me a pair of sturdy boots. The tunic, leggings, belt, and tattered cloak were just as wonderful for the long walk as my shredded dress and heels would have been torture. As it was, I was definitely not accustomed to long walks and I had a ridiculous set of blisters by the end of the day. The next day was worse, with several of the more unfortunate ones popping, and the third day was practically torture, but I was determined to push through. Dorian was already putting up with the most ridiculously unprepared traveling partner ever, it would be horribly unfair to spend my time complaining when he was literally leading me to away from death.

We found a decent-sized town on that third day, and managed to join a caravan heading to Val Royeaux. For the sake of convenience we told everyone we were husband and wife, since I definitely did not have the skin tone to match Dorian’s in order to pass as a relative. By the end of the week, we were heading into Nevarra, and after two, Orlais.

Dorian settled down quickly after our . . . discussion, and by silent agreement we decided not to speak of what we’d talked about. He decided quickly that he was not content with my current language skills, and proceeded to find every scrap of written word in the caravan and practically shoved it down my throat, endlessly testing me on new words and challenging me to read more complex passages and books. It was a relief to be reading again; not that I hadn’t been reading with Danarius, but the books I’d been reading were more along the lines of classic literature, while much of what Dorian found was simple and often amusing. It felt like reading for fun, and I was learning at the same time.

We reached Val Royeaux sometime in the beginning of the third week. The city was incredibly overwhelming; I had lived the last several years in New York, for sure, but in New York at least I knew my way around. At least I knew the _language._ I was getting better at Common every day, but in Orlais, they spoke Orlesian with a passion. I stuck as close to Dorian as I could while he booked us passage on a ship to Jader. 

In the several hours of spare time before the ship departed, I managed to get Dorian to drag me to the main marketplace. I wanted to see it, see the place where the Herald first confronted the Revered Mothers. Apparently, the Herald had been in the city a mere two weeks before, and the Chantry was still reeling from the final betrayal of the Templars, and the marketplace was still very much held an air of tension. If Dorian hadn’t dragged me back to the docks, I would have spent the rest of the day painstakingly searching for the arrowmark that signified where Sera had caught the Herald’s attention. 

It wasn’t until we were out at sea Dorian started asking questions about where I’d come from. It was . . . harder than I had expected, to talk about it. He seemed to understand, and avoided asking about my family, focusing instead on my singing and when he learned I performed on a stage and I’d explained the basics of Broadway, he’d insisted on my singing for him. The sailors had heard, and soon enough I was singing my way through Les Mis for the entire crew. They didn’t understand the words, other than Dorian, but music has always been an international language. By the time I sang the Epilogue, several of the men were in tears, and one had to be taken below deck to recover.

Everything was strange. I was _still_ in Thedas, I was still covered in lyrium, I was still a bit hesitant to believe that this was really real. But here, on the ocean, surrounded by sailors and away from the rest of the world, it was easier to begin to think of this as reality. The stars at night reflected brilliantly across the seemingly endless water, and none of them were familiar to me in the slightest. Dorian would show me the constellations, some of which I recognized from the astrariums, and we would stumble to bed with the names of stars light on our tongues.

The day we sailed into Jader was wet and cold. The captain called out “Bring ‘er in, slow and steady and not too hard now, y’hear!”

 _”That’s what she said,”_ I murmured. 

“What was that?” Dorian asked.

I blushed to the tips of my hair. “It is a joke, where I am from. ‘That is what she said.’”

He popped an eyebrow up in curiosity. “And just what is that meant to imply?”

“Well, you see . . . “ I struggled to control my embarrassment. Never in my life would I have ever imagined explaining this joke to _anyone_ , it was so well known, least of all Dorian Pavus. “The captain. He said ‘slow and steady and not too hard’ and that is a thing that might be said by a woman who is -” damn that blush! I must be the shade of a watermelon. “- a woman who is telling a man how to have sex,” I finished lamely.

Dorian stared at me before bursting out in gales of laughter. “My dear Ila, you grow more delightful by the day. I must admit, I never would have guessed you had such a dirty sense of humor.”

“That is because you have not known me very long.” I grinned. “I promise, it will only get worse if you stay near me longer.”

“Oh, I am beginning to think I will enjoy our friendship very much. Rest assured, I don’t intend to let you run away any time soon.” He reached out as if to throw an arm around my shoulder, but caught himself at the last second and put his arm down. I threw him a delighted smile, glad both that he had wanted to give me such a casual touch and that he had remembered not to.

Friends. I was becoming _friends_ with _Dorian Pavus._

What a strange thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So still kind of a filler chapter, I don't particularly like this chapter (or the last chapter, or the next one honestly) but the goal of getting to Ch. 8 is in sight!!! I AM SO EXCITED FOR ILA'S COLLISION WITH THE INQUISITION I CAN'T EVEN ^.^ Two more weeks!!!!!!!


	7. Just Keep Swimming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ila is introspective and Dorian is delightful.

Dorian expected it to be a week, maybe a little more between Jader and Redcliffe. Dorian had picked up new supplies (including tents! Camping! Yay!) and even two horses to take us the rest of the way. By then, it could have been a month or two days to Redcliffe and I don’t think I would have cared. The ship was wonderful. I loved ships. I love the ocean. Heck, I love _water_. I didn't even mind the camping so much. Travel that lasted more than eight hours to reach a destination? Not so much. I wanted to _drive._ Or _fly_.I wanted to take a train, take a bus, I was willing to brave the subway during commuting hours if it meant travel wouldn’t have to be so damned _slow_. It was beyond frustrating to know without a doubt that this whole trip could have been reduced to something like a ten hour flight back home but here we were still a week away from our destination after almost a month of travel.

On the other hand, the pace gave me a fair amount of much-needed thinking time. I was able to finally begin to clearly sort out what had happened since I came to Thedas. Like brainwashing. It was one of my worst nightmares, born from being raised by a narcissistic mother. And not the ‘I’m too beautiful for life’ kind of narcissism; no, this was the medically-diagnosed personality disorder that led some people to manipulate others around them like their life depended on it. College had been a huge blessing, my being able to be completely free of my mother’s influence for the first time in my life and Marcie was the most perfect roommate ever, putting up with my explosive outbursts of crying and ranting when I’d finally realized what my mother had put me through with a patience that went beyond anything I was capable of. 

I felt like I was in the middle of an emotional relapse. I’d been forced to forget who I was in favor of fitting the image someone else wished me to be, and been told I not only liked it, but had _agreed_ to it. And then believed what I had been told. I was angry with myself, angry with Danarius, angry that I didn’t know how he had apparently summoned me here. Every day I asked myself again if this was truly real. I stood up, smelled the air, took a long look at the world around me and fought the urge to cry. I loved Thedas; I always had, from the moment my very first Cousland had been called ‘Pup’ by Bryce. It was a nerd’s dream; who _didn’t_ fantasize of what they would do if they ended up in their very favorite story?

Except in those stories, we were always the hero. The wise woman, the teacher, the bestower of knowledge or the mystical ‘Chosen One’ from faraway worlds sent to save everyone. This wasn’t a fantasy anymore. It never had been. I’d been immediately stripped of any knowledge, I was under the direct control of a madman, had royally pissed off two of the people I adored most in this world, and was seriously deluded if I thought that six months of training with a bow made me anything but a beginner. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely could have and would have shot Isabela and certainly hit her; it also probably would not have been fatal. Not that she needed to know that at the time.

I wanted to get to Redcliffe faster. I wanted to drive a car with a heater; I liked the cold, I even liked the fact that it had been perpetually overcast since reaching the south, but I also liked being able to get warm when it was cold. I wanted to stick my headphones on and listen to my ipod on shuffle until it died. I wanted a real hairbrush, and by God I wanted to never know what it was like to shit in the bushes ever again. Modern plumbing was a dream that I held onto dearly and prayed for a miracle.

I had taken up yoga after my car accident as a form of physical therapy once I had gotten back on my feet; it became a habit I had embraced as part of my morning routine, and I didn’t see any reason to stop now that I was trying to find myself once again. Dorian slept late, but I was up when the horizon began to grow light and had plenty of time to go through my routine before waking him up to continue our trek. The first few times were awful, my muscles unused to the stretching and flexing after the months I’d unintentionally slacked off, and Dorian had positively cackled at my soreness until I made him do it with me. It felt good to be exercising like that again; it felt like _me._ I hadn't felt much like 'Ila' since I'd remembered her. Not that I really felt like 'Calliope'. I didn't know what I felt like anymore.

We were just one day out of Redcliffe, however, when we set up camp next to a small but secluded little pond. I eyed the water speculatively before calling out to Dorian.

“Hmm?”

“You are good with fire, yes?”

“. . . Yes?” 

“Do you think it would be possible to make the pond water warm?”

He gave me a look that spoke volumes as to my presumed insanity. “You want to go swimming? In Ferelden? In _winter?_ Darling, are you quite sure you’re feeling all right? I’d hate to see you come all this way only to drown.”

“Trust me, Dorian. I will not drown. I swim better than . . .” I considered for a moment, then decided the boast was probably worth it. “Better than anyone you have ever met,” I finished with a grin. “Besides, I do not want to swim unless the water is _much_ warmer. Be a dear . . . ?”

He shook his head, but waved a hand at the water and not a moment later it was lightly steaming. I pulled off my boots and tested the water with my toes and nearly moaned in delight before I started shucking the rest of my clothes.

“Um, Ila?”

“Yes?” I paused in the middle of pulling my tunic over my head.

“Not that I necessarily have anything against you, per se, and not that you aren’t a lovely woman, but might I ask exactly how much of your clothing you are about to remove?” He was staring pointedly anywhere but at me.

I couldn’t help it; I laughed. “Dorian, I am not your type, correct?”

His cheeks pinked adorably. “Not remotely.”

“I do not mind if you see me. I have swam in front of . . . many, many people before in clothing so tight that I truly had no secrets. If it bothers you so much, I can try to swim with my smallclothes, but the swimming I wish to do, they will most likely fall off.”

“Andraste’s ass, why would you put yourself on display like that? How many people watched you?” 

“Many more than a hundred? I do not know the precise number in Common.” I thought for a moment. “A hundred, and then another hundred, and then maybe sixteen more?”

“Eighteen thousand?” shock splashed across his face. “All to watch you _swim?_ ”

“Not just me. It was a . . . ugh, a conflict of good nature? There were many swimmers as well. Hundreds. And many different ways of swimming to see. It was a . . . a fight? A fight of good nature, I do not know the word.”

“A competition?”

“Yes! A competition.We competitions to see who the best two swimmers were in each way of swimming, to see who would go competition for our nation against swimmers from other nations.” I needed a better vocabulary. There was no way to describe the Olympics or the Olympic Trials in the words I had now. “I can explain better when I know more words.” I said in frustration. I pulled off the last of my clothes and waded into the pond, splashing the water over me. It was warmer than the air, but that didn’t mean it was _warm_ , and I wanted to be moving as much as possible.

Dorian had resolutely keeping his back to me at this point. I pulled my hair from the loose braid I’d managed to coax it into, infinitely thankful that my curls were somewhat behaving themselves and trying not to think of how gross that meant my hair really was. It was a good thing that my hair was long enough that I could literally tie it in a knot at the base of my neck. No caps, no goggles, but any swimmer worth a shit could swim blind. I needed this, the same way I needed to be doing yoga in the mornings and I’d needed to sing Les Mis for the sailors. This was Ila; Ila sang, Ila stretched, and Ila swam.

I took a deep breath and plunged headfirst into the water.

It was incredible. There had always been something about swimming that relaxed me and put me so incredibly at ease that I felt I could drift away. In the water, I was so aware of myself physically; I knew exactly what every muscle in my body was doing at any given moment. In the water, I was in control of myself in a way that was impossible to replicate in anything else. When a person devotes themselves to something diligently for years focusing only on improving themselves in that one particular activity, there comes a point where there is no going back. Where no matter how long it’s been or how out of shape one gets, every barrier falls away in the face of muscle memory so strong it’s almost impossible to do it wrong. I swam a little bit of everything; freestyle, backstroke, breaststroke. I hated breaststroke, but it still just felt so _right_ to be in the water that I couldn’t help but do everything I could. After about a half hour, I decided not to push myself too much before Redcliffe and switched to finish with butterfly.

It was beautiful. It was like a small part of the world clicked back into order. I was swimming butterfly, cutting through the water exactly like a mermaid (or so I always imagined). Each pull was pushing me through the water for a distance greater than my own height, and at 5’10 than meant that each stroke was taking more almost two and a half meters. This was the stroke that almost took me to the Olympics. If home was the water, butterfly was the one place in the home that was built just for me, and I had the shoulders to prove it. ‘Swimmer shoulders’ were the bane of my mother’s ability to take me dress shopping; I wasn’t as muscled across the shoulders now as I had been before I ended up here, since archery doesn’t use quite the same muscle group, but damned if I couldn’t still swim it like a fish.

I finished with a long, smooth glide into the shallow water. It was getting colder as night took over in full force, the temperature of the water dropping despite Dorian’s heat trick. With a contented sigh, I pulled myself from the water and was surprised to see Dorian waiting for me with a blanket, one that was magically heated. “You are the _best,_ ” I shivered as he led me over to the fire. It might not be snowing or raining, but it was cold!

“Does everyone where you’re from swim like that?” he asked, awe in his voice and his face as he gave me an admiring look, evidently having overcome his modesty hang-ups to watch me swim. “I’ve never seen anything like that. You moved with such grace! I didn’t think a person could move like that in the water. Are you certain you’re entirely human? Or is there some type of fish in your family history?”

I laughed. It was so similar to what so many people asked back home. “I am not part fish, and no, not everyone can do that. I have been swimming for almost twenty years. Two hours of practice at least, six days a week for at least 10 of those years.”

“Venedhis. I can’t imagine.”

“You spent many hours a day in the Circle learning to control your magic, no? Is not so different. I just learned with my muscles, not my mana.”

“Well, I suppose when you put it that way . . . Is this how you made your livelihood? By swimming professionally?”

“No, but some people did. I was not so fortunate. I made a living in -” I frowned. “People who get make a show for other people to see, telling stories together by . . . Ugh! Lying, maybe, not really? People telling lies together to tell a story for other people to watch.”

“Theatre? I had wondered, that night on the ship. Were you an opera singer?” he was positively eager. It was endearing. I could picture him going to shows as a younger man, reveling in the pretend and the exaggeration.

“Theatre! Yes! And not opera, exactly, we call it Broadway. But I can sing opera. It is not my favorite, though; I do not think I am particularly good at it.”

“What _is_ your favorite? Can you sing something for me?”

I thought hard for a long moment. The problem with being a musical nerd was that I don't have a favorite; choosing a favorite song would be akin to choosing a favorite child. Instead, I went with a classic Ila nerd-out and sang I See Fire, the Ed Sheeran song that had so perfectly summarized _The Hobbit._ Because if there was one thing I was a bigger nerd over than Dragon Age, it was definitely Tolkien.

"I am sorry it was in Tevene," I apologized after. "I am not well enough with Common to translate songs yet."

He waved the apology away. "Don't apologize, please. It was beautiful. And I understand Tevene well enough, even if I choose not to inflict that torturous language upon my tongue. If you ever need to talk and cannot find the right words, come to me and I will help you get things sorted."

Tears welled up in my eyes. If everything so far had been a fair shit show, it was almost worth it to realize that I was on a journey with _Dorian Pavus_ and he was rapidly becoming my _best friend in the world._ Granted, most of the people so far had either wanted to use me or kill me, but still. Dorian Pavus was my friend. I dashed my tears and fled to my tent before I could embarrass myself.

 

The next day dawned brightly. To my surprise, the clouds that had hung around since Val Royeaux had partially cleared, and when I exited my tent I was greeted with a surprising but retrospectively obvious sight.

“Dorian! Dorian, wake up, you need to see this!”

“Fasta vass, what has gotten into you this - oh,” his words cut off as he rolled out of his tent and caught sight of the swirling mass of green that lit the sky in the far-off distance. “Maker, it’s bigger than I thought it would be,” he breathed.

I nodded mutely. It was far bigger than the game had shown, encompassing enough space in the sky that it was probably visible to half the continent. Beneath it, the Frostbacks reached upwards, far higher than any mountain range I’d ever seen. The clouds had obscured the peaks until now, and it seemed almost as if the Breach sat just a bit lower in the atmosphere, almost nestling between the peaks. There were no explosions or raining demons, thanks no doubt to the Herald’s first attempt to close the wound, but it definitely had a menacing air to it that made me shudder. No way in hell would I want to go anywhere near that thing. And it was _beautiful_. The greens swirled around each other in a dance of shifting color, the center so dark as to almost swallow the more brilliant colors of the edge.

“We should get moving,” Dorian said urgently. “The sooner we can find out what’s happening around here, the sooner we can start helping.” 

We were moving within the hour, riding through what I knew by now to be the Hinterlands. I nearly drove Dorian to distraction looking to and fro constantly for anything that looked remotely familiar, and I nearly fell off my horse when I spotted what looked pretty much like a watchtower on a hill in the distance. That _had_ to be one of Cullen’s watchtowers he’d built for Dennet, right? 

We bypassed the Crossroads (much to my disappointment) and at my insistence we left our horses at a little farm just outside the gates of Redcliffe. I could see the windmill and suddenly I was overwhelmed. Up until now, everything had been rather . . .shitty, in just about every sense of the word. But each day I was feeling more like myself, this morning I had woken with sore shoulders and heavy legs from my swim the night before, and despite how completely awful everything had gone before now, I was about to actually walk into _Redcliffe,_ with _Dorian,_ and physically meet the Herald of Andraste and potentially all of my favorite dysfunctional family. I couldn’t help but feel that everything was about to change, and since things couldn’t possibly get _worse,_ there was nothing in this moment that I was afraid of.

 

Dorian had to pull me through Redcliffe by the edge of my cloak because I couldn’t stop whipping my head around trying to look at _everything_. I think he would have been amused if it hadn’t been for the fact that in order to look at anything, I had to turn my whole body due to my hood obscuring my peripheral vision. For some reason, my tattoos inspired people to gawk and point, and since we didn’t want Alexius to know we were here yet, not being gawked at and generally noticed was definitely preferable.

“Where are we going?” I asked a bit breathlessly, straining to get a glimpse of the statue in the marketplace as he hauled me down to the docks.

“Felix said we can meet with him in the Chantry, and I for one don’t feel particularly keen to push through a full market and potentially be recognized. So we are going around.”

The Chantry! I was beyond excited. _This_ was beginning to look like the story I knew. Dorian would go to the Chantry to wait for the Herald, we’d all fight the rift together, move on and corner Alexius and then close the Breach with the mages. And I was going to witness it all firsthand. I could hardly -

Wait. “Dorian, isn’t that Alexius over there?” The man I indicated had one of those robes with the ridiculous little ear flaps that reminded me of elves. He was standing on one of the far docks, waiting for a ship to tie in with several others.

Dorian peered down the docks. “Why, I do believe it is. Hurry, we should -”

“No, Dorian, wait, I do not think -” A blonde woman appeared on deck of the ship, along with a man in heavy armor and a very familiar sword slung over his back. No. This wasn’t right; they shouldn’t be here! Unless . . .

The Herald had already gone to the Templars. 

Shit.

“Dorian, we need to leave. _Now,_ ” I said urgently. I grabbed his hand and began to pull him back up the hill towards the gate, ignoring the burning in my fingers and fighting the urge to run. If one thing got people killed when they didn’t want to be noticed, it was drawing unnecessary attention, and running was the best way to catch too many people’s eyes.

“We only just arrived, and we need to talk to Felix!” he protested. 

“There is nothing Felix can tell you that you or I do not already know,” I hissed. “That is Calpernia, the leader of the Venatori, and Samson, the leader of the Red Templars. They serve the Elder One and they are about to lead an attack on Haven that will kill everyone if we do not warn them.”

I don’t know if it was my tone or my obvious barely controlled panic that convinced him. Wordlessly he wrapped his fingers around mine and we exited Redcliffe as quickly as we dared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I am a swimmer, in case it wasn't obvious ^.^ And I know I said Wednesdays, but I finished edits and I got excited because WE ARE ALMOST TO CHAPTER EIGHT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! :D Don't expect this every week ;)


	8. All Our Yesterdays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ila and Dorian race to Haven to warn of the impending attack and are swept up into the Inquisition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> INQUISITION IS GOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!! *graphic impalement-type injury described. You've been warned* *also italics for whole conversations = conversation in Tevene*

Alexius had thought ahead. Most of the mage forces were already arranged at the Crossroads, so of course we’d missed them on the way in. The way out, however, was not quite so smooth a journey and we ran headlong into a patrol.

I watch action movies all the time. I love action movies. I love sci-fi, and I am a sucker for a good action sequence of death and glory and fiery explosions. 

Nothing I’d experienced could have prepared me for watching and hearing a man burn to death not ten feet from me.

It was everything in me not to puke right then. I focused instead on keeping just behind Dorian as we raced out of the Hinterlands as fast as we could. I trusted Dorian to know where we were going; we whipped past several other scouts on the way out of the Hinterlands, but were going too fast for them to stop. Not a few tried to get an arrow off, but we made it from the valley without injury.

We rode through the rest of the day and night, making it through the morning before being forced to a rest the next afternoon when my horse threw a shoe. 

“Of all the bloody times to lose a shoe!” Dorian raged.

“Dorian, sit down,” I said wearily. We’d been up for so long . . .

“We need to get to Haven! If you’re right, it’s going to be obliterated by Alexius’ little ‘cult’. What is he _thinking?_ How could he possibly be part of this?”

“Dorian!” I yelled. He stopped in his tracks and glanced at me in surprise. It was the first time I’d ever raised my voice at him. “We need rest. We can do nothing about the horse, and we have been going for almost two days with no rest. Yelling will not help.” I hesitated before answering his ranting questions. “And Alexius did it for Felix.”

“For Felix? Felix would never want this to happen! Alexius _knows_ that!”

“The Elder One promised to cure Felix. Do you believe Alexius would not do everything possible to save his son?”

Dorian gazed at me in sadness. “I know he would,” he said softly, no doubt thinking about how Alexius’ obsession with healing his son was what had driven them apart in the first place.

“Then calm yourself and rest, Dorian. We can solve our problems when we wake.” With a sigh, he threw himself onto the ground beside me. The clear skies that had appeared the morning before prevailed, and rather than unpacking the tents we curled up in our blankets and fell asleep in the dimming light of the late afternoon.

 

 

A resounding explosion echoing through the mountains woke us some hours later, Dorian and I both bolting upright and staring about in confusion before Dorian let out an exclamation, pointing above us. The Breach, which had been steadily growing nearer as we’d traveled into the mountains, was gone, replaced with a ragged-looking gash across the sky. 

“We need to leave _now,_ ” I gasped, scrambling up and pulling Dorian with me.

“Ila? What’s wrong?” noting my obvious panic, he hurried to roll his blanket back into his pack.

“Leave it,” I told him. “My horse cannot carry me, and yours cannot carry us and our packs. The mages will attack Haven before the dawn.” I was realizing as events happened that I had only a general idea at best of when events took place; there was so much in the games that was entirely up to whatever the player decided to do next, and anything specific was definitely rendered ambiguous in the face of real-world events. I knew Haven was attacked immediately after the Breach was closed, since the party was that night. I didn’t know exactly when in the night it would be attacked, though, and I was suddenly terrified that my insisting that we rest had left us with too little time to bring warning. I’d seen enough time-travel tv tropes to know better than to meddle with these things, damn it!

Dorian nodded grimly and helped me pull the packs off the horses. My horse we unsaddled and set loose, since we couldn’t do anything for him. Perhaps he’d find a farmer and eventually get a new shoe. Perhaps not.

We stripped the rest of our items, keep the waterskins, keeping my bow and sheath of arrows. I didn’t have any spare clothes, and my tent and blankets were easily left. Dorian dropped the same, including his spare clothes, changing quickly into a set of leather armor I hadn’t seen before then. I grinned at him when he turned to me. “What?” he asked suspiciously. “That grin is far too mischievous.”

“That is the armor you wore the first time I ever met you,” I said, fondly remembering my very first playthrough of Inquisiton. I’d sided with the Templars, just to see what the quest was like before loading a previous save and ultimately choosing the mages. Dorian had been my favorite companion from the moment he stumbled into Cullen outside the gates of Haven.

“And that is possibly the strangest thing anyone has ever said to me, considering we met at a party and I know you haven’t seen me in this armor before,” he shuddered. “I’m beginning to think that ‘story’ of yours is more than a little creepy.”

He was right, of course, I realized a bit belatedly. “I apologize, Dorian. I did not mean -”

He waved me off. “It’s quite alright, dearest, honestly. It’s just strange to have someone that I have known for such a relatively short time know me so well is all. I’m getting used to it.” He flashed me a quick grin. “I’m afraid I do have to keep one more small pack. It’s light though, and shouldn’t be a problem for the horse.”

“What is so important?” I asked even as I fit the pack onto the back of the saddle.

To my surprise, Dorian looked ashamed. “I . . . I can’t tell you. I’m sorry, Ila. It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just -”

“You do not have to explain, Dorian,” I said. It hurt a bit, but if he was keeping it secret, he had a good reason. I couldn’t even imagine what it was he was hiding, but I put it out of my mind as we mounted up and rode on.

 

 

Haven turned out to be closer than we had thought, and even with the one slightly overburdened horse, we were overlooking the small valley where the village sat just after midnight. I peered into the valley, sighing in relief at the sight of campfires and torches. An approaching storm was beginning to darken the stars throughout the entire sky, and I mentally checked ‘blizzard’ off of my expectations for the night.

It was bigger than I remembered, and a large group of tents (most likely for the soldiers) were set up just outside the walls as perfectly in order as you please. Cullen’s work, no doubt. I felt a thrill of excitement. I was only a few miles from meeting Cullen Stanton Rutherford himself, the object of every serious Dragon Age fantasy I’d ever had. Oh, there were others I’d managed to romance and loved with enthusiasm, like Leliana and Isabela, but Cullen . . .

Cullen was basically the man of my dreams, withdrawals and all.

I glanced around and noticed movement on the trail behind us. “Dorian!” I hissed even as I nocked an arrow. Not a moment later a group of riders with staves on their backs burst into view. “Dorian!” I shouted. Not waiting for his response, I loosed my arrow and somehow managed to hit one of the horses. It wasn’t a killing shot, but it did cause the horse to rear and scream, which panicked some of the others and allowed me time to nock a second arrow and loose that one too. A fireball flew over my shoulder and the beasts panicked further. Knowing we were outnumbered and outmatched, we galloped down the mountain and barrelled towards Haven.

It was incredibly strange to recognize an area I’d only ever seen digitally, but soon enough I realized we were on the main road just a mile or so outside of Haven. I could make out the forge in the distance and could just barely hear the alarm bells echoing through the village. Despite the adrenaline and fear pumping through me already, I felt a further rush of excitement. _Haven!_

The Venatori caught up just as we approached the gate.

The next few moments were a electricity, fire, and screams. We were thrown from the horse and Dorian was up instantly, hurling fire and calling barriers around us. I rolled to my feet and went for my bow only to find that it had shattered from the fall; I ached for a moment; I might not be the best archer, but it had been my dream since childhood to learn archery and now, when I needed it most, I’d broken my bow. Dorian let out an incoherent shout in the midst of a thundering explosion before I heard him calling out through the gate, and by the time I turned to him the gates of Haven were being pushed open and my heart thudded to a screeching halt. One of the Venatori behind Dorian was rising, staff moving in a blur, and I was moving before I even had a chance to consider what I was doing.

Blue light exploded off of me and I shoved both arms through the back of the man about to strike Dorian. I was so shocked at my own actions that I let go of my control of the lyrium and watched in horror as the man’s torso literally exploded in my hands as I returned to solidity. I’d known it was possible, of course, I just hadn’t actually ever considered that I would ever do that to someone. I was so distracted by what I’d done that I missed the entire exchange between Dorian and the Advisors, coming back to myself only when Dorian reached back and pulled me roughly after him through the gates.

I completely forgot myself in the next moment when I finally looked up from the blood on my hands.

It was . . . indescribable. The Herald stood just inside the open gate, gesturing us through. Dorian had to physically drag me with him as I stared open-mouthed at the scene that I knew so well unfolding before my eyes. They were all there; the Herald (Trevelyan, I recognized, a giant of a man of whom every bit of him screamed _red_ , from his hair to his blood-red armor), Josephine, Leliana, and . . . Cullen. If my heart had seemingly stopped when the Venatori had almost gutted Dorian, it was trying to rocket out of my chest now.

I was utterly unaware of what transpired in the next few moments. Instead, I was hyper aware of the people in front of me. Leliana was clothed in her usual purple cowled robes; she was . . . _sharp,_ in a way the animation of the games had not been able to capture, though far more beautiful than her animated counterpart had been. Her gaze was piercing, and there seemed to be nothing that escaped her notice. I suppressed a shudder under that gaze; I had no way of knowing what kind of person Leliana had become since the Blight. Josephine was standing beside her, scratching madly at her notes in a way that brought a nostalgic smile to my face. I was pleased to note that her outfit was much less ruffled than the game had suggested, and she looked every bit the noble diplomat. And there, next to the Herald, stood the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces.

Cullen Stanton Rutherford, literal man of several of my dreams, the man with the voice that Jaime had once described as ‘a purring mountain lion with an awkward case of the hiccups’ stood poised with his hand on the hilt of his sword as Dorian described the approaching army. I watched his hand tighten reflexively on the hilt as the situation became dreadfully clear. His face was a mask of frustrated indignation at the apparent hopelessness of the situation. His scar, indistinct in the flickering torchlight of the evening, cast a unique shadow upon his cheek and seemed much more distinct than it had appeared in the game. He also had a much stronger presence; he loomed over the rest of them (since when was he that tall?) and had an intensity to him that could easily compete with Leliana.

Oh, I was _such_ a goner.

My thoughts were interrupted by Dorian suddenly grabbing my arm and hauling me roughly toward what could only be the Chantry. _The Haven Chantry,_ I realized even as my arm burned under Dorian’s fingers. Pilgrimage point on the journey to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, birthplace of the Second Inquisition. It was much larger than I remembered; easily the size of the Duomo in Florence, Italy. Several hundred villagers were also making their way quickly to the Chantry, a mix of madly dashing people and calm soldiers trying to make their way to relative safety. A large explosion echoed behind us, and I glanced over my shoulder in time to watch the first trebuchet fire into the mountains. It was stunning to behold. _They’ll be moving to the second trebuchet now,_ I thought. _And then-_. 

Oh shit.

I yanked my arm free of Dorian’s grip, ignoring his shout of surprise and darting back the way we’d come. The trebuchet outside the main gates fired again, followed seconds later by the second north trebuchet launching its load high into the mountain before them. I ignored the ensuing avalanche in favor of catching the attention of the loader of the nearer trebuchet, which was manned by very real and definitely not animated men.

“Away! Away from . . .” Ugh, why did I never have the words I needed? “To Haven! Inside, quickly!” years of careful cultivation of my voice to project from a stage had resulted in a carefully honed weapon of attention, allowing me to be heard over just about anything. It was not, however, a voice the soldiers recognized, and I saw them visibly torn between obeying a commanding order or continuing to follow previous instructions from a known commander. Unwilling to wait for them to make up their minds, I grabbed the nearest soldier and bodily threw her toward the gates. “Go!”

That seemed to convince them. The rest of the soldiers abandoned the trebuchet just as a dark shadow detached itself from the mountain far above them. I only noticed it because I was looking for it; the man who suddenly gripped my shoulders and angrily spun me around was completely unaware of the impending danger that we were currently standing right next to. 

“How dare you send the soldiers from the defenses!” Cullen was shouting angrily in my face as I tore my gaze from the sky. Unwilling to wait for him to calm enough to allow me to speak, I instead squarely planted myself and then _shoved_ him backwards as hard as I could, jumping after him where he had stumbled and kicking him solidly in the chest with the best Spartan kick of my life before he could get himself righted, sending him rolling away from the trebuchet just as the shriek of the dragon pierced the night. I dove after the flattened Commander just in time to avoid the worst of the blast as the trebuchet exploded behind us.

Hunks of burning metal and wood rained down on the two of us for several seconds before I cautiously raised my head to look around. Cullen was already pulling himself to his feet, shock and despair plain upon his face as the unexpected horror of Corypheus’ pet archdemon descended on Haven. I went to push myself up only to collapse with a cry of sudden pain; twisting about frantically, I nearly gagged to realize there was a length of wood _jutting out of my leg._ Because _of course_ this day could not get any more screwed up. I closed my eyes to the gory sight and concentrated on controlling my breathing. I could try to see if I could go incorporeal to get the hunk of wood out of my leg . . . no. First aid common sense; when something is sticking out of you, don’t try to pull it out because it might be keeping things where they should be instead of letting things fall out. Like blood. Or bone. Or muscle. I went dizzy just thinking about it; I needed to get inside the gates . . .

Before I could think more on the continued misfortune around me, the ground was left behind and I was being lifted and carried quickly away from the burning remains of the trebuchet. I was almost glad for the overwhelming pain in my leg; it was easy enough to ignore the burning of my skin where I was held. I managed to pry open my eyes, and found myself looking directly into the amber gaze of the Commander himself. 

Cullen was grim-faced, though that was to be expected. He never had handled the loss of Haven well. I stared at him unabashedly as he trotted with me through the gates, calling for the soldiers to retreat to the Chantry. Once through, he paused for a moment until the Herald and his team (Solas, Cassandra, and Sera, I noted) sprinted through the gates and slammed them shut behind them. The group paused to catch their collective breaths for a moment when a shout from the right drew their attention. _That’ll be the Venatori,_ I winced. 

“Cullen, we need you with us!” Trevelyan called out. Cullen grunted something that sounded suspiciously like a curse under his breath.

“Will you be alright if I put you down for a moment?” he asked hurriedly. I nodded and braced myself as he quickly settled me against the short wall by the stairs. I hissed in pain as my leg was jostled, but gestured for him to go.

“Wait!” The sounds of fighting had intensified, and I heard a quick cry of distress that was most likely from Lysette. Cullen froze, turning to glance back at me, irritation and concern battling on his face. I pointed quickly to where I knew different parts of Haven would be. “Seggrit, Threnn, Flissa, Adan, Minaeve. They are . . . Ugh! They are stuck, need help. Save them before fighting Venatori!” 

“How could you possibly -”

“Cullen!” roared Trevelyan.

“Go!” I shouted. He turned and sprinted to the battling forces by the gate. I didn’t bother to watch the fight; despite never having seen Cullen’s involvement, I had no doubts as to what the outcome would be. Hesitantly, I leveraged myself up using my right leg and hands, the shaft of wood having gone through my left calf. _Why is it always my left side?_ I thought bitterly. Any closer I could get to the Chantry would mean less work for anyone who had to come help me, and I’d just be in the way down here.

I’d managed to pull myself to the top of the stairs when the Herald and his team, Cullen, and a woman who could only be Lysette caught up to me. I was only dimly aware of Cullen telling the Herald about the trapped villagers and then the group split once more, the Herald sending Cullen and Lysette to clear the village before turning and dragging my arm over his shoulder.

“You should not worry about me, Herald, please, there are others who -”

“Others who did not clear our men from a trebuchet and risk their lives to warn us of the attack,” he interrupted.

“Dorian warned you. I was just there,” I argued. I didn’t want my involvement to be read too much into until I figured out how involved I wanted, or indeed even _should_ be. In the midst of a battle we were going to lose was probably not the time to be considering that, though.

“Dorian is not injured. You are. Unless you were planning on crawling all the way to the Chantry before we were overrun without even a weapon?”

“I can protect myself just fine if I need to.”

“So I saw at the gates. Are all Vints this stubborn?”

“I am not a Vint, so I cannot tell you. It is certainly common where I am from, however.”

“And just where is that, exactly?” 

Before I could even begin to formulate an answer when a shout alerted us to approaching Venatori. _This is ridiculous!_ I thought furiously. _Can’t we just make it to the Chantry without being attacked every five feet?_ Several soldiers came sprinting from the Chantry to aid us, and the Herald gave a quick shout of “Brace yourself!” before essentially dropping me to the ground. It was jarring, but not completely excruciating and I managed to let out only a small gasp of pain as opposed to a full-blown shriek.

I scrambled out of the way of the fighting, grateful that none of the fighters were taking any interest in the obviously-injured person inching her way from the fight. A quick glance over my shoulder told me the Chantry was only thirty or so yards away, and I was focused on scooting backwards towards it as fast as I could when a roar and a flash of metal caught my attention.

It was the Herald. I don’t know if his choice of color was conscious or not, but in the fury of battle I could only imagine how it felt to be faced by a hulking man in blood-red armor wielding an ax bigger than me. I gave props to the Venatori right then and there; I would have shit myself in terror if he’d been coming for me. There was a distinct grace to his movements, his axe sweeping through his enemies with precision and I marveled a moment at the years of training that had to have gone into his fighting. He was big, yes, but that level of skill only came from near-fanatic devotion to an art.

Arms reached from behind me and pulled me up, shocking me out of my thoughts and reminding me that _right, there’s a_ actual fight to the death _going on around me!_ and I had a flash of blond curls as I was lifted off my feet entirely and swept back to the Chantry.

The Chantry doors were open, and Cullen wasted no time barreling through. He shouted for Bull and when the Qunari came running, gently handed me off before running back outside to help his men.

“You the shiny Vint who showed up right before we got hit?” 

I winced. “Yes. I am sorry we did not get here sooner.” I looked up to meet his eye, keenly aware of the fact that he, a skilled Ben-Hassrath, had no reason to trust me at the moment. He kept his face impassive as he simply moved us out of the way of the door and settled me softly to the ground. 

“I’m afraid that leg is going to have to wait. Boss took our best healer out with him; your man should be able to come check you out once he’s done with the Chancellor.” He loomed over me for several long seconds, the only sound being the shriek of the dragon and the booming of another rain of fire. “Not sure what good your warning did, but thanks all the same. I’ve gotta round up my boys. Don’t go anywhere, alright?”

I nodded solemnly. “Nowhere to go, anyway,” I said with a grim smile. Bull eyed me warily before moving off into the Chantry, out of my line of sight. 

From where I had been settled, I not only had a perfect view of the door, but was in range to overhear the entire exchange between Cullen, Trevelyan, and Roderick once the rest of the fighters had made it to the relative safety of the Chantry. I missed some of the words, trying to mentally translate from Common to Tevene, but considering the fact that I could practically recite the whole conversation from memory, that hardly mattered. As the Herald turned to leave, his eyes caught mine and for a split second it felt like time came to a screeching halt as he seemed to look _through_ me. There’s no way to describe how it felt; like we connected somehow, in spite of all that was going on around us and the incredible differences in our lives up until now, we somehow shared this moment of perfect understanding. As he pulled open the door, I gave him as wide a smile as I could, trying my best to somehow say _It’ll all be alright_ before he went to face Corypheus. The Herald did a double take, offered a tentative smile of his own and I watched as he disappeared with Bull, Cass, and Vivienne.

“I will need you to straighten your leg, please, if there is anything to be done to help before we leave.”

Now _that_ voice could have woken me from the dead. I gasped. “Solas?” It took everything in me to not faint straightaway as he gently pulled my leg from where I’d curled it against me. Not from the pain, necessarily, though that was certainly a factor. No, _Fen’Harel_ himself was apparently about to heal my leg. He eyed me curiously before focusing intently on my leg, grasping the length of shrapnel and easing it from the muscle even as the green glow of healing magic suffused around the wound. It _hurt,_ and I writhed in pain to the point that Solas used his knee to brace my leg and placed a hand on my sternum to push me into the wall to keep me from twisting away. _It didn’t hurt this much going in!_ I thought frantically.

“Relax, Ila, he’s helping!” that was Dorian. But why wasn’t he with Roderick? “The strange boy told me you needed help, someone safe. Fasta vass, girl, why did you go running off back out the gates like that!” he pulled me so I was leaning back into his chest as he wrapped his arms around me to keep me stable while Solas continued to slowly close the wound.

 _“Someone had to-”_ I gasped Tevene as the wood gave way suddenly. _“-to warn them about the dragon!”_

His arms clenched around me. “And you didn’t think to just tell the Commander? He was standing right there!”

 _“I was a bit distracted, Dorian. I’m sorry, though, I wasn’t thinking.”_ I wrapped my hands around his strong arms, clutching them to my chest as an anchor against the pain. _“I’m just glad we made it in time.”_

“Prepare yourself,” came quietly from Solas. “This will hurt.” And he pulled the length of wood free from my leg. I shoved my wrist in my mouth to stifle the sharp cry as it came out and sagged between the two men in relief. “I cannot spare the energy to heal your leg completely, but the wound is closed and will remain so, as long as you take care with it until we have a chance to heal you fully.”

“Thank you, Solas,” I murmured weakly. “I understand.” 

He looked at me sharply. “Forgive me, but I was not aware that you knew -” 

“Solas, Sera needs your help with the shards. We need everything of import cleared from the workroom as quickly as possible. We only have a few more minutes at best.” Cullen’s strained voice interrupted. He appeared beside us, armor flickering gold in the candlelight of the Chantry. “And we need to get you two clear of the building,” he said to Dorian and I. “Follow Chamberterre, she’ll take you and the rest of the stragglers to the path. Quickly!” 

Dorian pulled me off the ground, cradling one arm around my waist and throwing the other over his shoulder as we quickly moved to follow the soldier Cullen had indicated. _Chamberterre . . ._ Why did that name sound so familiar? She led us and several others down into the basement, turning just before the jail to go down a long dark tunnel into the mountain. Sera and Solas caught up with us and darted down the tunnel, and a dwarf that had been following them hesitated at the entrance to the tunnel. Dorian led me around the dwarf and we took off after the two elves. I snorted softly to myself; _an elf will go underground, but a dwarf dare not?_ Surely he’d never hear the end of it. He caught up to us shortly and I had to fight to restrain a giggle.

The tunnel proved to be fairly short, and we emerged into a snowy field mere minutes later. A forest stretched out to our left, and over the trees I could see the orange glow of Haven as it burned, the dark form of the dragon swooping down and disappearing into the haze. Behind us, Cullen, Bull, Cass, and Vivienne burst from the tunnel. Sera fired a flaming arrow into the air as soon as they emerged. 

The avalanche turned the horizon to darkness, and as the snow began to fall the fires of Haven disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I freaking love this chapter. WE'RE FINALLY INTO CANON EVENTS LIKE FOR REAL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! :D :D :D :D :D So excited. So much is going to start happening from here on, I cannot WAIT to tell this story seriously and I am warning you now that the tags are tags for a reason and if at certain points I don't receive several curses and all of the tears then y'all are heartless (but don't worry, that's a ways away yet ^.^ )


	9. Two Worlds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ila tries to find her place in the Inquisition as the Inner Circle awaits the Herald's return.

I woke in a tent, blessedly warm and wrapped in so many blankets I felt for sure I would emerge a butterfly. It only took about two seconds after that to realize that ‘blessedly warm’ translated to ‘fucking boiling’ and that whoever had put me to bed had neglected to remove any of my clothes, including my cloak. I was a disgusting ball of sweat. _The unspeakable things I would do for a shower and a bath bomb right now,_ I thought bitterly. My amazing pokeball bath bombs that melted away to reveal a Pokemon inside had been some of the best things I’d ever found at a con. Extricating myself from the tangle of fabrics, I winced at the prospect of walking about in my sweat-soaked leathers. Or walking in general. My leg was on fire; not literally, of course, but a quick inspection through my torn leggings revealed that the whole of my left calf was bruised beyond belief, the outline of the wound itself only barely visible between the discoloration and the effects of Solas’ healing.

I leaned over and pulled the tent flap open as much as I could without rising, taking a long look outside. I’d slept through the end of the blizzard, apparently, and then I groaned to remember that I had not ‘slept’ through anything. I’d passed out cold is what I’d done. Not a minute after the avalanche settled. Dorian had shifted me against him, and my leg had brushed against his and it had been too much; between the half-healed impalement and the increasing burning across my body from too much contact, I guess I’d just . . . slipped away. 

How bloody embarrassing.

The cold mountain air did wonders to help my sweat situation, and guessing from the light I figured we were sometime past midday. The camp was eerily quiet; several fires flickered in between the many tents, but the conversations were murmured and muted by the fresh snow and the general feeling was one of despair. I eased myself up off the cot I’d woken on, gingerly testing my weight on my leg and finding that while it was definitely going to hurt like a bitch, I was fully capable of limping around on it. I slipped out the tent and focused on finding my way to someone I recognized. Snippets of conversations caught my attention as I hobbled past the fires and small groups of people scattered throughout the encampment

“- he’s not coming back, no one could survive that -”

“- dragon! A bloody archdemon!”

“Did you hear? One of those Vints is a lyrium ghost. Davent saw it himself, tell them Davent -”

The last had me pulling my hood forward to obscure my face. The thought of being notorious in the Inquisition was both thrilling and utterly terrifying. I wasn’t supposed to be part of this story; I wasn’t even supposed to be on this planet! And now that I actually _was_ in the Inquisition, I had to decide what I wanted to do with myself and my knowledge. Should I share what I knew? How much did one need to know to change the course of something, to shift the inevitable? If I gave warning of, say, the demon army at Adamant, would they attack too soon and be destroyed due to lack of forces? Could I take that chance? 

I forced myself to take slow, limping steps. The snow was thick but powdery and packed down in makeshift paths throughout the camp, allowing me to ease my way relatively easily towards the center of camp.

“Should you be walking on that leg, ma’am?” 

I nearly jumped out of my skin at the voice behind me. Surely, it couldn’t be -

It was. The voice was a perfect match to what I remembered from the game. Blackwall stepped up and grabbed my arm as I twisted to try to face him fully, only to have my left leg give out. I stifled a gasp of pain as he grasped my bare hands and pulled them from his grasp as soon as I was stable. “Likely not,” I murmured in shock, trying very hard not to stare at his beard. It quivered when he spoke and had entirely a life of it’s own.

His eyebrows lifted at that. “Thought they were saying you were one of the ones from Tevinter,” he said. “You don’t sound very Vint.”

Well, that was news to me. Although now that I thought about it, I realized that most people from the Imperium probably didn’t grow up speaking Tevene, as I apparently had. I probably had a singularly unique accent, though since the languages were mixed from what I knew I had no idea what kind of accent it was. “I am not. Would you help me find the . . . Sister Leliana?” 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I doubt she wants to see you right now. She’s a bit upset with the way last night went.” 

I snorted. “Then she will be pleased to see me, I should imagine. Please, Blackwall?”

Fuck. I shouldn’t have said that. He hadn’t introduced himself yet, and I could see the wariness that blossomed in him. “On second thought, perhaps it’s best she see you quickly. Come with me.”

He tried to offer me an arm, but I ignored the proffered limb and after a moment he shrugged and walked off. I followed as quick as I could, taking in every detail now that I wasn’t trying to survive an attack. I had only gotten the most cursory of views of the Inner Circle last night, but now we were safe and I now had the chance to study, up close and personal, the real life version of one of my favorite stories. It was almost too strange now that I was actually with the Inquisition; everything was so bright, so colorful, had so many scents and such stinging clarity that it was almost hard to remember that I’d already experienced this all before. The two experiences, the animated game and the apparently real Thedas hardly compared.

Blackwall led me to the edge of camp (in the opposite direction that I’d been walking, naturally) and took me straight to Josephine, who stood outside a large tent that no doubt held the physical accoutrements of the commanding circle of the Inquisition. She looked up as we approached, giving Blackwall a small smile and straightening when she noticed me behind him. 

“Ah. Thank you, Ser Blackwall, I was just hoping to inquire as to your wellbeing and thank you for you aid last night, my Lady . . .” she said with a small curtsy.

“Ilaria. My name is Ilaria. It is very nice to meet you,” I stated as clearly as possible while returning the curtsy.

“Quite. I am Lady Josephine Montilyet, Ambassador of the Inquisition. Tell me, are you in need of anything? We do not have much, with the loss of Haven, but I spoke with Messere Pavus earlier and he mentioned that you both arrived with almost nothing. I have taken the liberty of securing a spare tent and bedroll for you, though now that I see you I believe I will also ask and see if there is a spare set of armor and clothes for you.” She eyed me apprehensively. “I hope you do not mind if it is men’s clothing for now? I do not mean offense, it is just that you are quite tall and I am not sure that we have anything tailored for women your size . . .” she trailed off, furiously scribbling on her little note board.

I grinned, delighted at her enthusiastic efficiency and hastened to assure her that no, I didn’t mind men’s clothing, and yes, I very much appreciated the new pack. “Lady Josephine, do you know where I might find Sister Leliana? I need to speak to her as quickly as possible.”

“Sister Leliana? I am afraid that she cannot speak at the moment. She works hard to find us a safe path, along with the Commander -”

“Josephine. It is important. Please, it is about the Herald,” I begged.

“What information?” Leliana pulled aside the door to the command tent. “You only met him last night, before he was lost to us,” she scowled. _So much for her being ‘softened’,_ I thought bitterly.

“Information that says he is coming back.”

She regarded me coolly for a moment before indicating for me to enter the tent. She took a seat on the only stool within, and I looked around a moment before settling on the ground and leaning back against a barrel that had been placed inside. “Are you truly so comfortable being alone with the Nightingale that you can relax while you speak?” she asked.

I laughed. “No. But if I am to be uncomfortable, I might as well be comfortable.”

“Tell me what you know.”

“The Herald met with the Elder One before the trebuchet, and after a confrontation was able to fire the weapon and then dive into the old mine tunnels before the avalanche fell. He is injured, but he will make it back to us, following our trail out of Haven and arriving sometime in the night.”

I held my breath in the shattering silence that met my declaration. 

“And you expect me to believe you? You, a woman who only appeared last night at the forefront of a Venatori attack that decimated our structure and left us without a home. You come from Tevinter, the very place this cult originated, and now you tell me that the impossible will occur? How could you know?”

All right. I want to be clear; the last month had basically been hell. I was pooping in bushes, I hadn’t had a bath or a shower in _weeks_ , I was in a world that shouldn’t have existed with no real explanation as to how or why, and I couldn’t even touch people without essentially catching fire. And my first playthrough of Origins? 

I romanced Leliana.

I won’t say she was my favorite romance, because she wasn’t (Zevran nearly derailed my entire plan the second I met him), but she had always been one of the most important characters to me. I didn’t want her to hate me, I didn’t want her to distrust me, but I knew Leliana, and I knew what she had been through and what she was going through, and even if things were different here and even if I was way out of my element, I had one thing going for me.

I was, occasionally, a bit of a drama queen. And right now, I was a drama queen with more information than I knew what to do with.

“The same way I know about Marjolaine and Dorothea. I know of Lothering, the Deep Roads, I know that you are Ferelden and not Orlesian. I know what Cullen endured in Kinloch, I know what Josephine did to the bard in Orlais, I know who Cassandra lost at the Conclave and I know the Grey Wardens are missing. I also know that the Herald is coming back, that there is a plan to assassinate Empress Celene, and that before the end of this you will find peace with Justinia and the Maker.”

I could not believe I just said that. She would either shank me, imprison me, or believe me, and for one moment I was nearly incapacitated by fear as I realized once again that _this was real_ and _Leliana might actually kill me._

But she didn’t.

She did stare at me in the absolute creepiest way possible, however, and I was ridiculously glad I’d chosen to sit down because I honestly would have probably have fallen over under her gaze. As it was, I kind of wanted to pass out and hopefully just die right there before she had a chance to kill me. 

Instead, she stood up abruptly and came to kneel before me, intense gaze piercing straight into my eyes. I don’t know what she was looking for, but after the most terrifying moment of my life (yes, actually worse than ‘waking up’ in Danarius’ manse with Fenris out for my head) she sat back on her heels. 

“You are not from the Imperium, are you?” she finally said softly. 

“No.”

“Nor are you from Orlais, Ferelden, or the Marches, correct?”

“No.”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Ilaria. I am from . . . I do not know, exactly. I am American, but that doesn’t mean anything anymore.” I started to cry, too relieved that Leliana was listening to me and not just shoving a knife between my ribs, too relieved to be able to tell someone besides Dorian. He didn’t say much, but I could tell my whole . . . situation still made him fairly uncomfortable. I felt a bit bad that here I was crying all over Leliana’s crisis of faith, but once I started I couldn’t stop. I hadn’t cried like this since I’d been in Thedas. 

This wasn’t ‘I’m scared’ crying or even ‘I’m sad’ crying, this was ‘I just realized how completely alone I am and I can’t stop’ crying. This was ‘I’ll never see my brothers again’ and ‘I’ll never compete again’ and ‘I’ll never sing on Broadway again’ and ‘I still haven’t been to Germany!’ all in one. I didn’t know if Marceline and Taylor would ever actually get married, I would never meet Brandon’s baby, I would never get to play Mass Effect: Andromeda. I hadn’t seen Pentatonix in concert yet, I hadn’t gotten to meet Viggo Mortensen and I wasn’t going to be around for the next five Star Wars films or finish reading all of Brandon Sanderson’s Cosmere books. And God help me, I felt so stupid that these were the kind of thoughts that were flooding through me compared to ‘my family is gone’ and ‘I am so alone’ but my brain was essentially short circuiting at the time and I was being thrown through every happy memory I’d ever had and _knowing_ , as far as I could tell, that I would never be able to experience any of that ever again.

And my leg hurt.

Leliana earned every ounce of my adoration over the next half hour, letting me cry myself out without asking anything and even shooing away several who tried to either enter or call her away in favor of staying with me until my weeping gradually began to subside. She didn’t try to touch me, either, probably knowing how Fenris reacted to the tattoos. Eventually, however, I did manage to calm down enough to speak again. “I am sorry, you must think me . . . not normal,” I sniffed.

“I am well aware of how it feels to be separated from everything you loved,” she said softly. “And there were many nights where I comforted Sereda as she wept for the loss of her life in Orzammar.” She waited patiently while I recovered, mentally berating myself for not taking the time to find out about the Warden and the Champion. Sereda was the name of a Dwarf Noble Origin, and I was suddenly very curious to know her story. Now was not the time, however.

“Why have you not yelled at me? Called me a liar, stabbed me? I hardly believe you think I tell the truth.”

She laughed. “Because it is hardly to my advantage to kill a woman who either is incredibly distraught or has information I can use.” That was actually comforting, in a slightly horrifying way. “If you are sufficiently recovered, tell me what you know.”

“About everything, or just the Inquisition?”

She blinked at that. “The Inquisition, for now.”

“I know you and Cassandra started it during an argument with Roderik regarding the Herald after the first attempt to close the Breach, and that afterwards you sent him to the Hinterlands to speak to Mother Giselle. He met The Iron Bull on the Storm Coast, Sera in Val Royeaux, Blackwall in the Hinterlands, Madame de Fer at Duke Bastian’s manse, and Cole at Therinfal.” I considered for a moment, then plowed right ahead. “I know what is to come. I know about the plan to kill Celene, and the demon army. I know each time the Herald faces Corypheus and what needs to happen so that he will be defeated in the end. But,” I took a deep breath.

“I cannot tell you what is to come, however. Not . . . in detail? I do not wish to make you angry, or be not of help, but I do not wish to risk the Inquisition missing I do not know about because I said to look closely at something else.”

Anger flashed through her eyes. “You are saying you have everything, but will give us nothing?”

“No, I am saying I can give advice and reassurance, not answers. Does the Maker give answers, or does he simply point you in the right direction? I can do that, Leliana. I can point in the right direction. I just cannot say what will be on the path.”

She stood and began to pace the inside of the tent agitatedly. “Where did you get your knowledge?” 

My turn to laugh. “You would not believe me.”

“Try me.”

“I fell through a magic mirror and ended up in my favorite story.”

It was almost comical, the way she stopped and stared at me. I couldn’t help it; I cracked a grin, and the next second she was curled forward laughing so hard she had to hold the edge of the stool to keep herself upright.

“Oh, that is just the sort of thing Sereda would say,” she grinned. “So you think yourself in a tale? A legend? One you presumably knew well?”

“Yes? Though after Tevinter, I am unwilling to say that this is not real. I do not believe I could have dreamed myself into Danarius. And certainly not these.” I dimly shone blue for a moment before releasing my hold on the lyrium with a sigh.

“Sister Leliana? The scouts are reporting another storm about to strike, do you think we should - Oh, I apologize, I didn’t know you were occupied,” 

“No need to apologize, Commander. Ilaria and I were just finishing our conversation. Tell me, Ilaria, do you think it advisable to withdraw our scouts until the storm passes?”

I shrugged. I’d never dealt with scouts or armies before, and I told her as much. “After, however, you should send people to watch the . . . narrow space? In the mountains, looking to Haven.”

“The pass? Why?” Cullen asked cautiously.

“The Herald will come through once the storm passes.”

His face was the most adorable mix of confused and concerned, and Leliana and I both started giggling uncontrollably. Once I’d gotten a hold of myself, I attempted to pull myself to my feet only to have my stupid left leg give out. Seriously, why was it always the left side? Before I could react, a ridiculously strong hand was wrapped around my arm and pulling me upwards and suddenly my nose was a mere six inches from the nose of Cullen Rutherford himself. I’m pretty sure I blushed down to my toes. And seriously, _that scar!_ It was too distracting for words. I’m pretty sure I hadn’t actually seen what his eyes really looked like.

“Are you all right?” Sweet Jesus, his voice was honey and I was in danger of becoming a stick of jello if he didn’t let go.

“F-fine,” I managed to stutter, trying to slip out of his grasp. He was having none of it, however, apparently certain that I would collapse if he let go. I was just glad he was wearing gloves, and holding onto a thick pad of leather as opposed to my bare skin.

“Will you need help getting back to your tent? You shouldn’t be out in the storm on that leg. Or those clothes, for that matter.” 

“What is wrong with my clothes?” 

“They are full of holes, for one, and they’re certainly not meant for Ferelden winters,” interjected Leliana. “Josephine is rounding up some spares for her,” she informed Cullen, “but do not worry yourself, Commander. She will be staying with me for for the time being.”

“With you?” I stammered.

“Of course. Until we have a chance to speak further, I do not intend to let you out of my sight. Commander, if you will retrieve her pack from Josephine, I will escort her to my tent.”

“Of course, Sister.” He let go of my arm and ducked out of the tent.

“Did my eyes deceive me, or was that _blushing_ I saw upon your cheeks when the Commander helped you up?” 

“Oh, that was certainly blushing,” I admitted, going red once more.

“How much do you know of our Commander? You mentioned Kinloch?”

“More than anyone besides you or Cassandra, I think.”

She gave me an appraising sort of look before catching my arm as Cullen had and leading me from the tent. “I daresay the Inquisition will be a fairly interesting place for you.”

“I do believe you are right,” I said with a small smile.

 

I fell asleep in Leliana’s tent before Cullen could bring a bedroll for me taking only the time to strip out of my sweaty and blood-soaked clothes before curling up between two spare blankets. As the day grew dark, strong winds howled through the camp and heavy snow piled outside the tent, making my sleep rather more restless that I would have hoped. It was only after the wind had quieted and the snow retreated to a light fall that Leliana finally joined me, rousing me to tell me that the Herald had been found and brought to camp, injured but very much alive. I mustered enough energy to nod and then slipped back to sleep, resting for the days to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I may have futzed with Leliana a bit because I was not entirely pleased that she was a semi-insane terrifying spymaster person in Inquisition and my first playthrough I missed _one_ dialogue option like the first conversation and as a result she was hardened despite my getting every other dialogue right? I was like "...The Fuck?" 
> 
> I still went back and fixed it tho. I still did -.-
> 
> And in other news I FINALLY FIGURED OUT HOW TO LINK IN HTML SO THE THINGS BELOW THIS??? CLICK THEM!!!!!!!!!! Huge THANK YOU to [Eisen](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Eisen/pseuds/Eisen) for that, you are currently The Best ^.^


	10. The Dawn Will Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ila and Kirill have a long and unexpectedly heart-felt conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been making lots of happy progress on this story the last few days, so to quote my friend "Happy 'Murica Day".

I woke alone the next morning, eyes crusty from my bout of tears the day before combined with a relatively restless night. Leliana had left a pile of clothes for me and the ones I’d crawled out of the night before were (thankfully) nowhere to be found. The thought of having to crawl into those horribly travel-stained, battle-worn, blood and sweat soaked leathers was enough to make me want to shiver out of my skin.

Pokemon. Bath bombs. I _dreamed_ of Pokemon bath bombs.

Actually, I thought as I pulled on the thick winter breeches and tunic, I didn’t really dream of anything. Since being here, I realized I’d woken up several times feeling like I’d been through a nightmare, but I couldn’t remember actually . . . dreaming. Just night sweats. Waking up anxious. It was weird, now that I thought about it, and I paused while pulling my new cloak over my shoulder. It wasn’t that I necessarily _wanted_ to potentially encounter demons or whatnot, but I wouldn’t have minded learning how to play in the Fade.

I snorted at myself. Solas would no doubt find my view of the Fade very much like that of an over-eager child. I felt it best to have a conversation at some point regardless, as I’d rather be prepared if I should find myself in the Fade. Best done after a proper introduction, first.

I ducked out of the tent and into a brilliant and chilly mid morning, mindful of my throbbing leg. There was a flurry of activity going on around the command tent, and I spied the Advisors and several of the Inner Circle. I found myself staring wide-eyed, frozen in place. This was wholly unreal; Cullen, furry mantle and armor, conferring with scouts while Josephine spoke to calm a jittery noble bedecked in far too many furs. Varric and Bull were lounging idly outside the command tent, and I could only imagine from the proximity of Bianca (I am not going to admit how close I came to swooning at the sight of that brilliant crossbow) that they were guarding the tent. 

“Ila? My dear girl, where have you been?” Strong arms spun me around and crushed me in an embrace that nearly knocked the wind out of me.

“Dorian? Oh, I am sorry, I did not even think yesterday -”

“You’re fine, we’re both here, no harm done. Give a fellow some warning next time you run off though, if you will? I’d rather not have to tear the camp apart to find my best friend.”

Damn it, I nearly broke down again right there. As it was, my growing discomfort allowed me enough distraction to control my traitorous emotions. “Dorian, as much as I love you, could you please -”

“Oh! Yes, of course. You’re not in leathers, are you? My apologies,” he swiftly let me go, and I couldn’t help a small gasp as my skin sang it’s protests. This whole ‘no touchy’ thing was going to get more and more frustrating, I could tell, especially if it meant I wasn’t going to be able to give bear hugs to everyone. What’s the point of being part of your favorite fictional world if you can’t hug your best fictional family? At least not without wanting to crawl out of my skin. 

Seriously, fuck Danarius.

Before I could say another word, Leliana had appeared out of nowhere beside us. “The Herald is awake. He wishes to speak to you about your . . . unique perspective.”

I was swept past Bull and Varric without a word much to my disappointment, and to my surprise Leliana didn’t follow me into the tent.

“I hear you’re to thank for the timely arrival of aid to the pass?”

The Herald lay propped up on a cot that had been set up, and he was absolutely cocooned in blankets. All I could see was his arms and head with a heavy bandage wrapped about his left hand, and I took the opportunity to get a better look the esteemed Herald of Andraste.

My first impressions of the him proved accurate, so far as physicality was concerned. Even lying on a cot, he was a beast of a man, probably a good half a foot taller than me and thick with heavy muscle. He looked like he could bench me, Dorian, and my dad’s motorcycle and hardly break a sweat. And he was _red_. Red hair, red beard, red-flushed skin, and copper eyes that only served to electrify the red. I grinned a bit as I spied the red armor he’d been wearing during the attack; this was a man who obviously knew the effect of one’s appearance.

“Something particularly amusing?” he rumbled, voice deep and weary. 

I blushed a bit. “No, I was just considering your choice of . . . color.”

He smirked. “It matches the rest of me, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.” He shifted, wincing a bit. I could make out the edges of one hell of an impressive bruise across his chest; no doubt he had a few ribs that weren’t feeling particularly good. I wanted to make him rest, but what right did I have to bully the Herald of Andraste? “I hear you can be of particular use to us here in the Inquisition. I assume you can elaborate?”

“I can if you tell me your name?”

“You tell it to me.”

Well so much for me getting my head on straight before getting into this. Apparently Leliana had been fairly clear about what uses I might have. “If this is the story I know, your name would be Maxwell Trevelyan.” His eyes flew wide at that and he stared at me with renewed interest. “Your father is a Bann and your family is from the Free Marches, Ostwick for detail. You have a Great-aunt Lucille and you were the only person to live through the Conclave. I admit, I do not know much about you or your family specifically outside of that.”

“My name is not Maxwell,” he sighed after a long moment of silence. _Well I’m off to a great start,_ I thought. “Maxwell was my youngest brother.”

“Was?”

“He was at the Conclave with me.”

 _Oh._ “I am so sorry, I did not know,” I whispered. Losing a brother was . . . it was one of the worst things that could happen to a sibling. I forced myself not to think about Michael in this moment; I’d cried on Leliana’s crisis of faith the night before, I would _not_ cry on the Herald’s loss.

“I don’t see how you would have,” he said simply. “To fill in your blanks, my name is Kirill Trevelyan. I am the eldest son of Bann Fredrik Trevelyan and his wife, Lady Anastasia. I had five younger brothers, now four, and I am currently in association with the Reformed Inquisition as the Herald of Andraste.” He caught sight of my growing smile. “Is something amusing?”

“My name is Ilaria Zavetnya. I am the youngest daughter of Joe Zavetnya and his wife, Vanessa. I had five older brothers, now four, and I am currently in association with the Reformed Inquisition, though what that association might be has not been decided.” Five brothers each? What were the odds.

His own mouth quirked. “What happened to your fifth brother?”

“My oldest brother, Michael. We were in a -” I cut myself off. There was no way to say ‘car crash’ in Common that I knew, and even if there had been I had no way of explaining what that was. “-an accident. I lived, he did not.”

“Does it get any easier?” 

That . . . was not a question I had expected, but I knew what he was asking. His loss was still horribly, terribly fresh; I’d lost Michael almost five years ago. I could see the raw pain Kirill was trying to keep hidden, recognized it because it was as familiar to me as breathing. “No. Sometimes, you will forget. And sometimes you will be able to speak of him, of what happened, and it will not hurt so badly; then, you will see something, or smell something, and this wound you thought was finally healing will rip open once again, just as fresh as it is right now. The pain that you feel right now, it will get further and further away, but it will always be there.”

Kirill closed his eyes and took a long shaky breath. “Thank you.”

I stepped across the tent while he got control over his emotions and, much as I had the day before, I settled down on the ground and leaned back against the cot near his feet. “How’s your leg?” he asked, much relieved to have a topic change if I was hearing his voice right.

“I can walk, and it is getting better much more quickly than I am used to, thank you for asking.”

“Surely you’ve received healing magic before?”

I shook my head. “There is no healing magic where I am from,” I replied, bracing for the shocked denial of such a possibility.

“None?”

“None. No magic at all, actually.”

“That’s . . . how can a place like that _exist?_ ”

“What is _exist?_ ”

“Ah, to be real. Not fake, nor imaginary, but a truth of being by simple matter of . . . being,” he finished lamely.

“Oh! Thank you,” I paused, trying to collect my thoughts. Kirill seemed much more relaxed than Dorian or Leliana had been about this. “I do not know, for certain. I did not believe a place of magic truly could exist, so I have been just as surprised as you.”

“I can hardly imagine,” he said in awe. “Leliana told me some of your story; I was hoping for a more clear version from you.”

“Anything for detail?”

“You mean specifically?” 

Oh thank God, that had been driving me crazy. “Yes!” I said eagerly. Dorian had been helping me with Common as we’d traveled, but I was still embarrassed by my flubs. I knew the language well enough to know I wasn’t speaking it very proficiently, and it was mildly infuriating.

“Let’s start with _how_ you know what you claim to know. Leliana said you claimed this was a story from your world?”

“In a way?” How does one describe video games? “It was a play, of a sort. Three plays. And anyone could play the part of the main character, and follow the story as that character, making decisions as they would and learning the story as that character. Only, each decision changed what every other character would do, and you could go back and start over and make new decisions to see how the story changed. And there were books, and art, and so much that people could do with the story and their was so much _detail_ and I wanted to know _everything_ so I just kept doing everything and I do not know that information came to my world or how our worlds are connected but somehow what I learned seems to be fairly correct.”

“That sounds . . . complicated,” Kirill mused. “Is everything in - what did you call it? American? - this complicated?”

I snorted. “America,” I corrected him. “And yes. For the most part. We are the type to get bored fairly easily, and so our games must be interesting and not simple.”

“And you said there were three ‘plays’? Who were the main characters?”

“The Hero of Ferelden, the Champion of Kirkwall, and the . . . Herald of Andraste.” I’d almost said ‘The Inquisitor,’ but I figured I didn’t want to spoil that surprise. He’d find out soon enough.

“So you know some of what I have already been through, and you know what I will be faced with?”

“Yes. Why did you go to the Templars?” I asked, a bit more accusingly than I really meant. But still, it was bothering me! Why had he gone to the Templars when he could have called on the mages for help? Was he a mage-hating bigot, which I doubted since he seemed so incredibly reasonably and calm, or was there some personal or hidden reason I was unaware of?

“Am I to assume you would have chosen the mages?” he asked. I nodded, letting my head fall back against his leg and watching his face out the side of my eye. He had also tipped his head back, running his right hand through his hair and then tugging on his beard in thought before replying. “Two of my brothers are Templars. I was hoping to find them at Therinfal, as my family hasn’t heard from either of them since this bloody war began. And . . . “ he idly tugged at the bandages on his left hand.

I gasped as green light flickered from his hand and the bandages fell free. His wrist was horribly swollen, no doubt from Corypheus treating him like a ragdoll, but the Anchor was bright and I would have sworn I heard the faintest noises coming from it, like an indistinct whisper that made me want to strain my ears and listen. Kirill held out his hand and I edged closer to the head of the cot to get a better look; the mark was like a slice across his palm, with little rivulets that looked almost like veins branching off of it. If it hadn’t been for the distinct green glow, I would have said it looked like an infected wound, and I shuddered from the thought of what would eventually happen to it.

“It’s not a blessing, no matter what the people say,” Kirill growled menacingly. I looked up and met his fierce gaze. “This is no gift from Andraste, no providence of the Maker. The idea of _amplifying_ it in order to combat the Breach?” he shook his head. “No. I sympathize with the mages, I want to help them, I want to create a sanctuary for those who didn’t fall in with the Grand Enchanter’s idiocy with Tevinter. But for the sake of my own sanity and protection, especially in the face of the rifts across Thedas that still need closing, I was not willing to take that path when another, safer option existed.” 

I could see the fear in his eyes. It was interesting, in a way, how we almost mirrored each other; first with our families, now with this. I recognized the fear he tried to hide much as I recognized the pain; it wasn’t fear of dying, it wasn’t fear of magic or pain. I was the fear of failing. I’d known this man a total of two days, and this was our only true conversation, but somehow I felt that I’d known him all my life. He was like Michael, in a way, but he was also like me. No one was that afraid to fail unless they’d only ever been told they would.

“You will not fail,” I said fiercely. He started, obviously surprised that I’d managed to read him so well. “You will not. You will face demons and many fights, you will play the Game and change the world, but you will not fail. You would not before, and you certainly will not now if I have any say in the matter.”

He stared at me, copper eyes wide before he relaxed into himself. “I don’t know why you felt the need to say that, but . . . thank you. I think I needed to hear that, and from somebody who isn’t just invested in keeping my head on straight for the sake of the Inquisition.”

“None of your Inner Circle are so . . . daft? As to only care about the Inquisition. They have high regard for you, as Kirill, not as the Herald. You just have to be willing to accept it and not hide behind whatever you were told to expect growing up.” Another look of shock, and I grinned at him.

“I thought you said you hardly knew anything about me,” he scowled. 

“I do not. But I have eyes, Kirill, and I think it is not wrong to say that I understand a bit of what you have gone through. My mother told me always . . . that I was worthless, that I would never be loved and never reach my dreams because I was lazy and awful.” My throat tightened at the memory. _No,_ I thought angrily, no more tears! “She was no more right than whoever said as much to you.”

Kirill’s eyes glistened though he rubbed his face angrily before the tears could fall. “Maker, we’ve hardly even spoken of what I wanted to find out and instead you have me nearly crying in the span of one conversation. I’d be terrified if you hadn’t somehow put me completely at ease.”

“If that is all I can ever do for you, Kirill, will that be enough for me to stay?”

“What do you mean?”

“I do not know if I can tell you what is to come. What if that changes things? I do not think I can give you answers to the questions you might ask, about the plan against the Empress or the demon army, or even Corypheus himself. But I promise that I can tell you when you are on the right path, or help if you feel like too less of a person. You can tell me anything, because I know what you are facing better than anyone else, and I have been told I am a fairly good drinking partner,” I couldn’t help the desperation from creeping into my voice. If he wanted answers, if he wanted me to give him everything, then I didn’t know if I could stay or where I could go. We were getting along so well, but there was a war going on and I was essentially telling him I was of no use. “I can work, too, I will clean or fight or cook. Just . . . please do not make me leave, if I cannot give you what you ask,” I whispered.

I felt a hand on my cheek and flinched from the electric feel of Kirill’s hand before he gently tipped my face to meet his. “Ilaria Zavetnya,” he said slowly, “you have already earned your spot within the Inquisition. You risked your life with Dorian to warn us of the attack, and you are the only person in months to treat me entirely like a human being and not like an overly holy religious figure. I ask nothing from you other than you continue to do just that, and you can stay as long as you can bear to put up with us.”

I wanted to laugh for joy, for relief. Before I could think of an appropriate response, raised voices drifted into earshot.

“That sounds like the Council,” Kirill frowned, releasing my face (to my relief) and throwing off his blankets. I gasped at the sight of his ribs; they were even more badly damaged than I’d thought, the bruises dark and covering his entire torso down the left side of his chest and side. 

“Kirill! You should not be moving like this!” I exclaimed, just as a particularly vehement argument was made by Leliana. _Oh! This is - oh my God. They’re about to sing!_ I realized, suddenly getting inexplicably giddy. “Erm, they might need you more,” I finished lamely. He gave me a quizzical look as he pushed to his feet and slipped on his boots. “At least put a shirt on,” I griped as he made his way out of the tent. I don’t think I’d ever met a man so hairy. Thank God he was wearing breeches, because I did _not_ need to know how far that hair extended. He shot me an amused glance and ducked out of the tent.

I rose and limped after him and exited the tent to see him being confronted by a woman who could only be Mother Giselle. Spying Dorian sitting on a blanket nearby, I hobbled over and settled next to him. “Sorry, Kirill wished to -”

“No need to apologize dear, the same happened to me before you woke. Believe me, if you manage to offend me I will make sure you are well aware of your faults.”

I laughed at that. “I am certain you will, Dorian.”

He peered at me speculatively. “You were in there for quite some time, however. Do I suspect a budding romance?”

“Um, no. Sorry Dorian. Kirill is nice enough, but he is not exactly . . . to my tastes? He is far too hairy.” Not that that was a bad thing, of course, it just . . . wasn’t for me.

“Nothing wrong with a hairy man,” Dorian huffed. I glanced at him, noting how his gaze followed Kirill and then realizing with delight that Kirill had still neglected to put a shirt on. 

“Why, Dorian, are you . . . having interest in the Herald?” I asked in delight.

“I have _no_ idea what you are talking about,” he protested, but the effect was ruined by the tinge of pink on his cheeks.

I patted his knee affectionately. “Do not worry, I will not tell,” I assured him. He huffed and opened his mouth to respond when I saw Mother Giselle walk towards the fire and shushed him. He gave me an affronted look and went to continue anyway when the woman began to sing.

The song rhymed in Common; I hadn’t expected that, though in retrospect it was something that might have been obvious. I wasn’t comfortable enough in Common to guess what words would be used, so I contented myself with humming while I listened to one of the most beautiful pieces of music I’d ever heard. The first time I’d played through Dragon Age: Inquisition, I’d actually cried at this scene. It was so powerful, to have just survived the impossible and be trapped in a seemingly hopeless situation, and then to sing of how dawn still comes after the dark. To be fair, it was late morning now as opposed to evening like the game, but the effect was in no way lessened.

_The night is long and the path is dark_  
_Look to the sky for one day soon_  
_The dawn will come_


	11. Brother Dear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ila makes some friends and finds some family. And almost has a heart attack from surprise feels, but ya know, details.

Kirill was apparently known for disregarding himself, which hardly surprised me if he grew up anything like I had, and I proved to be endlessly amused merely watching everyone else flutter about trying to contain him. I thought Josephine was going to have a heart attack when he disappeared to talk to Solas, and my laughter at Leliana and Cullen’s horrified glances when he told them they’d be going north with absolutely no explanation was worth the pile of snow Leliana dropped down the back of my neck. 

Dorian fluttered away to find food, and with my leg still not being friendly I was content to sit on the blanket and watch the happenings of the Inquisition. It was _fascinating._ There was so much _more_ to everything than what the game could show. It was impossible, of course, for any game to include all of the day-to-day goings on of any world. The decision to leave the next morning had been made promptly once Kirill actually explained things, and now I had the absolute pleasure of watching runners sprint to and fro between the tents, alerting all the appropriate parties of their tasks for the journey.

Sitting in the heart of the encampment also meant that throughout the day, I got to at least see every one of the Inner Circle at some point. Bull had wandered off to organize the Chargers, but Varric maintained his post outside of Kirill’s tent and I’m pretty sure he thought I was the creepiest person ever because the whole time he was polishing and cleaning Bianca I could not stop staring at him. It was absolutely surreal. Varric polishing Bianca while sitting outside the Herald of Andraste’s tent.

He even had a sheaf of papers on a barrel next to him.

At one point, Vivienne elegantly drifted by to chat with Josephine (I was too far away to hear what about) followed not long after by Cassandra. Goddamn, I wanted to swoon right then and there, she was even more gorgeous in person. I silently bemoaned once again that she was straight as she strode powerfully through the tents, hand on her sword hilt and armor gleaming. Unfair, really.

Occasional flashes of red that I assumed was Sera darted amongst the tents, but if it was her she never actually came into view. I managed to catch a glimpse of Cole doing . . . _something_ to Josephine’s little clipboard-thing. Blackwall hung around for a bit and Bull eventually came back and settled in beside Varric.

Dorian came back with the most delicious smelling stew I’d ever had the pleasure of smelling, and it tasted even better than it smelled. I recognized absolutely none of the flavors, but it was without a doubt the most delicious thing I’d eaten since coming to Thedas (though that might have been because I hadn’t really eaten in almost three days; hunger is the best spice and all that). I ate like I was starving and then pulled up my hood and snuggled into my amazing new cloak and promptly fell asleep on Dorian’s shoulder.

When I woke, it was dark again and it took me about fifteen seconds longer than it should have to realized that the person whose shoulder I was leaning on was _not_ Dorian. Dorian was sitting across the fire chatting amiably with Varric and Josephine. I don’t know how I didn’t wake up when Dorian moved and now I was slightly terrified and maybe a little excited to find out who I was leaning on. Was it Bull? Not big enough. Leliana? I shifted a bit. Too . . . hard? Blackwall? I turned my head just a tiny bit to see if I could spy beard and was met instead with . . . fluff?

Oh. My. God.

“Cullen?!” I couldn’t help the yelp that burst from me. I was sleeping on _Cullen Rutherford’s_ shoulder and _no one told me?_

He jumped nearly as bad as I did when I yelped his name, and I went bright red as I realized that all nearby conversation had ceased and basically the entirety of the Inner Circle that was gathered around the fire was staring at us. “Sorry,” I mumbled, trying in vain to hide my embarrassment. “I just - ugh. Sorry. I was, uh, surprised. I fell asleep on Dorian.”

To my intense delight, he chuckled and relaxed marginally. “I suppose that would be startling, to wake up to a stranger beside you.”

I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face. “I was not surprised because you are a stranger. I was surprised because . . . “ Ok, how do you say ‘I’ve been in love with you for the last like three years of my life but we’ve never met and really should never have ever met but here you are and I was just sleeping on you and I think my heart just died a bit’ without sounding insane or just completely creepy? “Because you do not seem the person to let a stranger sleep on you,” I finished lamely.

He gave me a penetrating look. “I am not,” he said slowly. “However, Leliana assures me that while we have never met, you are no stranger. I wished to have a chance to speak with you about your . . . information.”

“Oh. That . . . makes much more sense.” I glanced around the circle. “Did you want to talk here? Or should we go somewhere more, ah, not busy?” This whole ‘suddenly having a second language’ thing was a pain in the ass. I was learning more every day, and my tutor in Val Dorma had been excellent, but _words._ I understood almost everything that was being said, but I just didn’t know enough words well enough to speak as well as I desperately wanted to. It was mildly infuriating.

“Let’s go for a walk. I want to check on the guard posts for the night anyway.” He pushed to his feet and offered me a hand up, which I promptly ignored. Neither of us were wearing gloves, and as much as I would have loved to hold his hand, it wasn’t worth feeling like a shark bit off my hand. The whole ‘I am independent and don’t need help standing’ thing only lasted until I went to take a step, though, and promptly almost fell on my face because I forgot my leg was a study of dynamic colors.

Cullen caught me, because _of course_ he did.

He was still in his armor, thank God, so the fact that I landed pretty much on his chest was less of an ‘ouch’ and more of an ‘oomph’. The hand that caught my back to steady me was a bit more of a ‘ow’ and the sudden realization that Cullen’s go-to plan for keeping me on my feet was to press me into his chest was definitely a solid ‘wow’. There was no way he meant anything by it, of course, seeing as I’d stumbled straight into his chest, but still. _Cullen Rutherford._

“Are you alright?” he asked, the perfect picture of concern as I managed to extricate myself from the arm on my back. The clothes helped some with the pain, but I wasn’t wrapped in leathers like I had been and it definitely made a difference. 

“I am fine, I forgot for a moment that my leg is not,” I assured him.

“Are you positive you want to go on this walk? We can talk later. It’s no trouble, I assure you.”

“No!” I protested. “No, I am fine. We will just have to walk slow.” I smiled up at him (seriously, he was _so tall._ I was tall, but not that tall) and was delighted when he gave me a shy smile back. He offered me his right arm and since it was wrapped in metal, I went ahead and gently clasped the crook of his elbow. I almost felt like a proper lady.

We made our way out to the edge of the camp in silence. Once we were clear of the tents, however Cullen’s left hand went to the back of his neck and he cleared his throat like he was preparing to talk. As adorable as that was, I interrupted him before he could even get started.

“How is Mia?”

“What?” I could tell I’d caught him totally off guard with that.

“Mia. Your sister. You should send her, ah, writing? Once we reach home. She worries about you. It did not help that you did not tell her when you went to Kirkwall.”

He went rigid under my hand. We were still walking, slowly, but there was a stiffness that hadn’t been there. “Mia is . . . well. Or she was the last time she wrote to me. Branson had just had a baby, and Rosalie was engaged. She’s probably married now. Maker’s breath, that’s a strange thought.”

_In for a penny, in for a pound,_ I thought. “And how is your head?”

He didn’t even bother to deny it. “A right pain, as it were. It’s manageable, though, thank you for asking.” The question earned me a more speculative glance.

“How long have you gone without, if you do not mind my asking?”

“Eight months or so. There are good days and bad days, same as ever.” He shot me a glance when I snorted. “Is there something I’m missing?”

“No, it is just that I think I came to Thedas near the same time you quit lyrium. That is . . . interesting, I think. Not important, just interesting.”

“So you really believe you are from some other world?”

I sighed. “Cullen, my world is so very different from Thedas they could not possibly be the same.”

“And your knowledge?” 

“A story. Or not. A game, a play. Make-believe. Or, at least, I thought so. Now?” I shrugged. “It is very hard to argue with all of this,” I gestured around us.

Cullen gave a small snort. “I can imagine.” We were quiet as we made our past a guard post, the men giving a firm salute to their Commander as we walked by. I smiled to myself at their enthusiasm and was more than a little delighted to see the salute in person.

“I spoke with the Advisors and the Herald earlier, and Kirill was adamant that you become part of our Inner Circle. You and Dorian both. Dorian on account of his merit in bringing us the warning and working against his own countrymen, and you for ‘services to be rendered’, as he put it. He did not, however, elaborate on what those services might be.” He looked at me out the corner of his eye.

My turn to tense. “I cannot tell what is to come,” I whispered. “What if what I know is wrong? What if someone makes a mistake and people fail because they thought a mistake could not be made because of what I said?” I could see him mulling over the implications of what I said. “It is not worth the risk.”

“So you will give us nothing?” his voice rose slightly, and it was everything in me not to flinch.

“Leliana said much the same. Is it nothing to offer comfort? I will tell you if you doubt your path that it is the right one, I will give advice. But I can offer no answers. This is not my war; it is yours.”

After a long moment of tense silence, Cullen sighed. “I suppose I can accept that. Then we need to talk about your safety.”

“My what? Why?”

“A woman who knows so much about our Inquisition and the events surrounding it, if word got out that she existed, would be the perfect target for either assassination or kidnapping, and, if you’ll allow me to be blunt, torture can break the strongest.” His face was bleak with the admission of the last.

This time I did flinch. Not so much at what he was saying, but because I knew he was thinking about Kinloch and I didn’t know how to help him. Some things were so much easier to deal with when they weren’t real. “Cullen, I am sorry -”

“It was not your fault,” he said harshly, followed by a deep breath. “I’m sorry, that was . . . I’m sorry.” He shook his head as if to shake away the awful memories. “Anyway, we decided that for now it would be wise to keep your knowledge as closely guarded a secret as we can. Is there anyone whom you will need to speak with that should know what you know?”

“Honestly? The Inner Circle.”

“Who from the Inner Circle?”

“All of them.”

He shot me an incredulous look. “Surely you can’t be serious.”

I nodded. “I know them all too well. Even if I did not need to speak to them, I would end up saying something on accident that would give me away. It is best they know before I give myself away to them and cause more problems.”

A sigh. “That’s true enough. Alright, I’ll ask Leliana and Josephine to start pulling people aside. Anyone else?”

“Not with the Inquisition, and not that we are likely to meet, so no.” I grinned at his confusion, but didn’t elaborate. “There will be time for more talking later. I am here, and the Inquisition will move on and find new safety. I am not going anywhere, Cullen.”

“That’s . . . Yes. Well. I’m glad.”

I hummed a bit to myself as we made our way back to the main fire. “Me too.”

We finished a circuit of the camp and returned to the main fire, Cullen settling me down between Dorian and Josephine before disappearing into his tent. Dorian gave me a very suggestive glance, which I chose to ignore, and I happily spent the rest of the night listening to the quiet chatter of the Inquisition.

I shared a tent with Leliana again that night, and it seemed that that was to be the norm for the foreseeable future. Not that I had a problem with that, quite the opposite, it just meant that I learned whole new meanings to the phrase ‘light sleeper’. I couldn’t so much as twitch without her waking up, and I felt horrible even after she assured me that it didn’t bother her for the fifth time.

Solas came by as we were packing up the tent and bedrolls the next morning and examined my leg, doing an additional healing to speed the recovery even further. By the time we left it was sore, but other than that and a bit of discoloration I was almost entirely back to normal and not limping at all.

That wonderful little blessing lasted through the morning before I got to face the horrible reality that riding a horse and occasionally running for an hour or so did not actually prepare one’s calves for hiking through the mountains, in the snow, for day after day. I was so sore the next morning my calves cramped just when I twitched my toes.

“Aren’t you some kind of super athlete?” Dorian smirked at me as I hobbled along next to him. “Thousands of people to watch you swim and all that?”

“Does this look like swimming?” I groaned. “How are you not limping?” I glared him as he walked easily through the beaten path being made by the soldiers.

“My dear, haven’t you realized by now that I am the pinnacle of human perfection? Dorian Pavus does not get sore,” he effused.

“You are so full of shit.”

He laughed outright at that. “Perhaps, but at least I’m adorable. Promise you still love me?”

“Who said anything about love? Love has nothing to do with what comes out your ass,” I protested.

“Well actually -”

“Do not,” I cut him off. “Do _not_ go there, Dorian. If we start making sex jokes I will not be responsible for your hurt pride.”

“Aww, come on Ila, let the man speak. Nothing wrong with a little dirty humor between friends,” ribbed Bull, who was walking behind us. I didn’t know if Leliana had talked to him about me yet or if he was just making sure I didn’t get left behind if my legs gave out. Not for the first time I regretted the fact that there was only about fifteen horses left and somewhere’s around twelve hundred people. The horses were currently all being used as pack animals.

Dorian practically spat at Bull. I somehow always forgot how awful they got along together in the beginning, but now I was caught right in the middle of it. “Friends? When I see some, I’ll be sure to dazzle them with the full effect of my humor.”

“Hey!” I protested.

“Not you, dear, you’re hardly a friend,” he waved my protest away. I froze. _I was so stupid,_ I realized, _to think that just because I’m living Inquisition I would get the relationships I loved from the story. You’re alone, Ila, no one here has any reason to care about you._ Damn it, if I couldn’t wake up from this shitty-ass experience, the least the universe could give me was a solid Dorian friendship. Was that too much to ask for? “You’re definitely closer to the little sister I never had,” he continued, completely oblivious to my internal freak out and likewise unaware of how close I was to crying from sheer loneliness. _Thank you, universe!_ I managed to think before I burst into tears of relief. “Ila? Ilaria, what’s the matter? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean -” 

I cut him off with a hug so tight I felt his back pop in like six places. I couldn’t even speak, I was crying so hard, but he seemed to understand. I missed my family; I missed my brothers, and my theatre crew, and Delu and my dad. I missed the street performer that always winked at me when I got off the subway. 

But if Dorian Pavus wanted to claim me as his sister, I figured I would be ok. Eventually. For now, I cried all over my brother. 

Some things never change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to mention when I posted yesterday, I'm going on vacation through this next week and while I hope that I will be able to post Chapter 12 next Wednesday, I don't actually know how reliable my internet will be so you might not get an update until next Saturday :(


	12. Not My Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ila has feels over Cullen and stories and lyrium is really gross, just sayin'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all wanted meta on Ila's lyrium right? Riiiiiight??? *winks*

Dorian took my crying in stride in true Pavus form, but Bull decided that my mental state should be informed to the Herald and since he didn’t see fit to tell _me_ he’d gone to get Kirill, it was more of a surprise than I really felt prepared to handle when he showed up and demanded to know what was wrong. What kind of Dragon Age nerd wants the Herald of Andraste to witness them having a meltdown? So much for being the strong and mysterious bearer of hidden knowledge; now I was more like the damp siren of secret woes.

“What the bloody hell did you do, Dorian?” rumbled Kirill as he strode up to us. “I leave you alone for _five minutes,_ ” he scoffed good-naturedly.

I giggled and extricated myself from Dorian. My arms and cheeks were bemoaning the contact, but I couldn’t have cared less at the moment. “Dorian was saying too many nice things and I am afraid that I do not always respond well to nice things,” I assured him even as I rubbed the tears from my eyes. It was true; I’d once been part of a group experiment where we had to say two kind things and one constructive criticism about every other person in the group, and the mentor in charge of running the experiment had to call a halt to the whole thing because I’d had a meltdown on my turn. Not because of the criticisms, no, I’d completely lost it from hearing the things people appreciated about me. Feeling appreciated in any way was completely foreign to me. I was getting better, slowly, and I only burst out crying _half_ the time now.

Kirill gave me the most disconcertingly discerning look I’d ever received in my life. “The hardest words to hear are always the kindest ones, no?” 

“I hardly said anything nice!” Dorian protested. 

I met Kirill’s eyes and we both burst out laughing. Sometimes, the words that meant the most to people like us were things no one else would ever think twice about. My freshman year of college, a girl on campus had told me she loved my leggings not knowing how much of a fight I had put up with my mother to buy them and how she’d called me so many awful names and told everyone who would listen how people would think I was a slut because I wasn’t being a good “caretaker of my body.” I’m pretty sure the girl thought I was insane, because I’d looked at her in complete shock and then literally ran away before I cried all over her.

“Need a moment?” Kirill asked softly. I nodded. “Well. Dorian, I am going to steal Ilaria for a little while, if that’s alright with you?” Dorian gave a slightly bewildered nod and Kirill led me off toward the head of our migration.

We walked in a comfortable silence, Kirill nodding and waving to the assorted peoples who called out to their Herald. “Is it always like this?” I asked.

“Like what?” he absently responded, even as he shook hands with a man. “Oh. Yes, I suppose. I can hardly ignore them, after all. Most of them have been through enough hell the last few months. I don’t know of anyone from Haven who didn’t lose someone at the Conclave. If my speaking to someone, or waving to them, can give them some measure of hope or relief in the face of what we are experiencing, that is the least I can give them.”

“They _all_ lost someone?” There were so many people here. For them all to have lost someone . . . The Conclave had always been a bit nebulous to me. A catastrophe, yes, but one that the player didn’t really experience. We didn’t get any build-up to it, and then popped in on the other side of it. I suddenly remembered Varric mentioning thousands of people dying on the mountain, and it hit home just how tragic the Conclave had been. It was like the Thedas version of 9/11, where thousands of people had died and the consequences reached across the world.

“Every single one.” The catch in his voice had me reaching across unconsciously to comfort him, but I hesitated before actually touching him. “Why do you do that?” he asked.

“What?”

“Go to touch someone and then not? I saw you do the same thing several times last night.”

I gave a slight shrug. “I used to be very . . . touchy?” I frowned. Definitely not the word I wanted.

“Physical?”

“Yes! Thank you. I used to be very physical, and I love hugs and handshakes and that thing where two people sit very close for a long time?”

“Cuddling.”

“Cuddling!” I clapped in excitement, already in love with how well Kirill seemed to follow my thoughts. “It is the lyrium, however. It -” I broke off. I tried really hard not to think about my lyrium. I tried really hard not to think about Danarius or Calliope. If I didn’t think about it, then I could act like it hadn’t happened, that I hadn’t been essentially tortured and brainwashed for months by a man out of nightmares.

“It’s painful, isn’t it?” I gave Kirill a sharp nod. “I read the Tale of the Champion. Fenris was very clear that the experience was agonizing. I can’t imagine what you must have been through.”

Dorian and I did not talk about Danarius as a rule. Fenris’ massacre at the gala, my abrupt recovery of my memories and the resulting mental chaos I’d experienced did not exactly build pleasant conversation. “It was . . . “ I struggled to find words. “The worst pain I have ever had. It was so awful that it _broke_ me somehow. I could remember nothing before the pain. I could remember nothing _but_ the pain. And then he told me I was his cousin, and I did not know any better and I _believed_ him.” That, more than anything, was what pained me now. Rationally, I knew that it wasn’t exactly my fault that I’d believed him. I knew, remembered, _nothing_ to say any different, but I still felt like I’d allowed myself to be used. After coming so far from the same sort of abuse from my mother? I’d betrayed myself.

“Hating yourself for being manipulated is only going to make things harder, you know.” Kirill’s face was impassive as we finally approached the forefront of the migration. 

I laughed. Kirill was apparently just as good at reading me as I was at reading him. “It is always easier to give others the advice that you should be listening to,” I admonished him. “But . . . thank you. I will try to remember that.”

Kirill led me over to where Leliana and Cullen were consulting with Solas and a dark haired man with a familiar shield strapped to his back. “Is that _Krem?”_ I asked excitedly. I _loved_ Krem. He was one of my absolute favorite non-companion characters, and one of the main reasons I could never sacrifice the Chargers; as much as I couldn’t bring myself to do that to Bull, I absolutely could not let Krem die. He was wonderful.

“Chargers are working their way back now, marking the path so we can head straight in once we meet up. The site’s just about two miles past that ridge over there, and if the plan is still to head north then we’re about twenty miles from what looks like a major valley, just past these mountains,” he indicated on the map between him and the Commander.

“How far are we from our next site?” Kirill interrupted.

“A few miles, no more. We should reach the site well before nightfall.” A scout ran up, handed Cullen a piece of parchment, and darted off. He glanced at it and sighed. “And the Marquis is demanding the use of one of the horses. Again. Leliana, if you could please speak to the man? He’s unreasonable.” Leliana nodded and disappeared, and Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose before looking up and noticing me for the first time. “Oh, Ilaria, I’m sorry, I didn’t -” he cleared his throat. “How are you? Bull mentioned you were distraught?”

I waved him off. “Getting used to a new life. Some days are more . . . difficult, than others. I will be fine.” 

He gave me a flat look that told me exactly how he felt about my deflection, but thankfully did not pursue the question. “Herald,” he nodded to Kirill, “I meant to thank you earlier for talking down Seggrit. I swear, that man could curdle milk just by walking past it.”

“Did we get everyone? From Haven, I mean. The ones who were stuck?”

Cullen smiled, the scar on his lip pulling in the most entrancing way that really was so adorable it ought to be illegal. “We got to them all, thanks to you. Flissa had a burn on her leg, and Mineave suffered a broken wrist, but that was the worst of it. We managed to save all of the civilians thanks to you.”

“What’s this?” Kirill shot me a confused look. “Thanks to you for what?”

I wanted to protest my involvement, but Cullen cut me off before I got a word out. “After kicking me off the trebuchet, lady Ilaria then proceeded to inform me of all the places where people were trapped in Haven before any could be lost. We rounded them up while you carried her to the Chantry.”

I wanted to crawl away and hide. Krem was eyeing me appreciatively, and Kirill with a look more akin to awe. Cullen was smug at having caught me off guard. “You the lyrium ghost half the people are talking about?” asked Krem.

Half the people were talking about me? “I must be,” I mumbled. Fenris wasn’t around, though he was no doubt to blame for people knowing so quickly what my tattoos did. Or maybe Varric would be a better person to blame, as it was his book that told everyone about the lyrium tattoos.

“Heard you saved a bunch of soldiers on the trebuchet. Nice work, that,” Krem congratulated me.

“I was just well enough to see the dragon coming,” I protested. I didn’t want extra attention on me, at least not any more than would come from my being a freak of lyrium. I really hoped Krem missed the glance that Kirill and Cullen exchanged when I said that, since both of them knew the truth to be much different.

“Well enough? You mean ‘lucky’, I think. Either way, it was well done.” He turned and gave Cullen a sharp nod. “Commander. I’ve got to check in with Bull before he starts roaring all through the camp for me.”

We watched him go in silence. “You knew where to find the trapped civilians?” Kirill asked me incredulously once Krem was out of earshot. “What kind of play has that kind of detail?”

“A very detailed one?” How the hell was I supposed to answer that?

He just shook his head. “Yet another reason to keep you around. If you can keep me sane through all this and help us keep civilians alive, I’ll make sure we come out of this with a win.”

“Deal!” I crowed in delight. Cullen made a sound that was suspiciously snort-like at my enthusiasm.

 

The next few days were a blur. The Inquisition moved steadily, if not very quickly, toward our goal, and it was no end of frustration among the Inner Circle that they had no idea where we were going. By now Leliana and Cullen had managed to get to most all of them and tell them of my “unique perspective,” as they’d taken to calling it. It was mildly entertaining to see their reactions; once they’d been told, they invariably sought me out. But they didn’t usually talk to me, oh no; they watched. Intently. A few were bold enough to come talk to me themselves, like Bull (“Glad you’re on our side,” he’d said after I told him how he’d lost his eye) and Varric (“So you’re telling me you already know how this story ends?” he’d shaken his head once I’d described Bartrand’s betrayal). Most of the others were apparently satisfied to simply watch, and wait.

Cole had scared the shit out of me at the end of our second week of travelling, appearing next to me between one heartbeat and the next; I’m pretty sure I blinded the people closest to us with how bright my tattoos flashed. Somehow, I hadn’t expected his little disappearing trick to be so . . . sudden. “You aren’t like the others,” he said softly. “No sound, no _light,_ yet you _laugh._ Tranquil don’t laugh. You are . . . not Tranquil? But silent. How can you be silent but not Tranquil?” He’d spoken so solemnly, words coming faster as he’d continued his thoughts while I tried to get my heartrate back under control. Before I had a chance to ask him what he meant, he’d already disappeared again.

I was a bit disappointed, actually. I could have used Cole’s insight into my muddled thoughts. I’d always wondered what Cole would have to say if he could read my mind, and finding he couldn’t was more than a bit concerning. So I did what any self-respecting know-it-all would do; I went looking for answers.

I went looking for Solas.

He eyed me warily as I approached him on the edge of camp that night. “I assume you have a question for me? Seeing as you have not sought out any others so directly in your time here.”

“Yes. I spoke with Cole earlier, and was concerned by some things he said.” I sat carefully beside him and his silently flickering veilfire.

His lips quirked in a sort of half smile. “That is a common reaction to our spirit friend. He often sees and understands that which we would rather not have shared with others. The experience can be quite, ah, surprising the first time.”

“That is right. But he told me nothing.”

“Nothing?” he lifted an eyebrow.

“Well, not ‘nothing’. Just not . . . something.” I struggled to recall exactly what he had said. “He said I was like a Tranquil, with no thinking and no light, but that Tranquil do not laugh, and I laugh, so I cannot be Tranquil. I . . . do not understand.”

There was a long silence as Solas regarded me warily. I knew he was thinking deeply, but he was just as rigidly controlled in person as his digital counterpart. I couldn’t read his face at all. “Your marks. They are lyrium, correct?”

“Yes?”

“And you are marked, with lyrium, across your brow?” He reached up as if to touch it, but I leaned away from his touch.

“Please do not. But yes, I am, as you can see.”

“Is it so painful still?”

“Always. It is like the lyrium fights my body. They work together, but do not wish to, and the peace between the two cannot survive a third person.” I tried not to gag at the image of lyrium as a living thing fighting my body. I had Titan blood embedded in my skin. Titan. Blood. One of those things it was far better to _never_ think about or I’d probably go a bit insane. Or at least, more insane than I already was.

But seriously. _Nasty._

“Am I correct if I assume you are aware of how a mage is made Tranquil?” 

“Yes, they are branded with lyrium on their - oh.” I stopped abruptly. _They are branded with lyrium on their forehead,_ I realized. Very much like where my lyrium crossed my brow. _Fenris’ tattoos stopped on his chin._ “Wait, are you saying that I am Tranquil? Because I do not feel Tranquil.” No, I felt very close to panic at the moment. 

“Obviously not. I would say that this, indeed, is evidence for your being from another world. Tell me, does your world have magic?” I shook my head. “And when you dream, do you enter the Fade?” Another head shake. “Then I hypothesize that you were born without, and have never had, any connection to our Fade. Your people have learned to survive without, even thrive, if you are any indication. As such, the lyrium upon your brow did not render you Tranquil, as there was no connection to the Fade to sever. You are quite possibly the only living person who can exist, completely and without obvious consequence, while lacking a connection to the Fade.”

I gaped at him. “You cannot be serious.” This went against everything I knew of Thedas. Then again, it did make sense? “I wonder if that would explain why I do not dream,” I mused.

“You do not?”

“No. I wake up sometimes with strong feelings, as if I have had a dream or just woken from a bad dream, but can remember no dream. It is rare since being here, however, and . . . I think I dream less and less the longer I am here.” 

He regarded me solemnly. “I would be more concerned had you been previously connected to the Fade. It is entirely possible that the dreams will cease altogether after a time.” Noticing the horrified look on my face, he gave an easy chuckle. “If it makes you feel better, I doubt you will ever need to worry about demons. If Cole cannot ‘read’ you, I doubt there is any spirit that can.”

“But if the dreams will go away, is it possible my emotions will as well? After I have been here for a long time?”

“Unlikely. But then again, this is almost entirely guesswork. Only time will tell.”

“Merrill called Fenris’ tattoos vallaslin,” I whispered. Solas looked at me sharply. “If my emotions begin to go away, could you remove the tattoos?”

He stared at me, the closest to being taken aback as I had ever seen him. “I was given to understand that you know the great events that are to come,” he said in a deceptively soft voice. I could see the tension in his shoulders. “And that you knew enough of each of us to consider those of the Inner Circle to be friends. What you ask . . . is not something I would have revealed to any ‘friend’.”

“You did not. When you told me it was possible, I was not a ‘friend’.”

“Who were you?”

“Ellana Lavellan. You were my closest friend, and even a lover, by the end.” I smirked, albeit a bit sadly. “It was almost a joke among those of us who played the game, however. ‘Solavellan hell’.”

He was absolutely still beside me. “What happened?”

I shrugged. “You left. When the Inquisition was finished, you left.”

“For what reason?”

I forced myself to keep calm. This, above everything else, had the potential to be utterly and irreversibly damning. I had small comfort in knowing that I could most likely escape from almost anywhere I was imprisoned, run away from any physical threat and be well hidden, but Solas?

Solas was literally a god. Maybe not one at full power, but of everyone I had the potential to interact with in the foreseeable future, he was by far the most dangerous. He could probably do things to me that I could never imagine, but would never be able to escape. If he knew that I knew _anything_ about his plans for the future, that he intended to bring back Arlathan and destroy the world as we knew it, well.

I couldn’t imagine that ending well for me.

“You never said,” I lied. I always said the best liars made the best actors, and damned if I wasn’t an exceptional actress. “You ended it with Ellana before the end, without even an explanation why,” I coughed ‘asshole’ into my hand, and was delighted when the action earned a chuckle, “and when everything finished you just . . . left. No explanation. You did the same no matter who the Inquisitor was.” _Please believe me,_ I prayed.

“Inquisitor? You mean the Herald? I had wondered if he would be their choice.” 

“They have not decided yet! Do not tell _anyone,_ ” I hissed at him.

“Do not fear, your secret is safe with me,” he chuckled again, relaxing a bit once more. “As for your question, while I do not think you need fear losing your emotions, should such a thing come to pass I would be willing to attempt to remove the tattoos. I am afraid that doing so would cause more harm than healing, however, and I do not know if the spell would work as the lyrium itself has been bonded to your body.”

I heaved a sigh. “I understand. Thank you, Solas.” 

“You are quite welcome, Ilaria.” He gave me an appraising look. “I take it you know where it is we are headed?”

“Tarasyl'an Te'las,” I said grandly, sweeping my arms wide. “The place where the sky was held back.” I grinned at his surprise and pushed myself to my feet. “I look forward to getting to Skyhold.”

“As do I,” he murmured effusively.

I was still laughing when Varric came up to us. “If you two are done, Chuckles, I’m here to steal your girlfriend.”

Solas and I exchanged a startled glance at Varric’s choice of words, considering my revelations of my previous interactions with his digital counterpart. Varric’s eyebrows went up. “I don’t want to know,” he finally said. “Not now, anyway. Too much shit to do, too many mountains to climb.” He turned his attention to me. “Sister Nightingale is looking for you, Blue. Sent me to walk you home.”

“Blue?” I asked, thrilled at the prospect of having a nickname from Varric.

“Don’t get too excited,” he grumbled. “It’s not permanent. I’ll let you know if I come up with something for you,” he assured me when my face fell.

“Promise?” 

“Sure kid. Promise. Scurry back to Sister Leliana now before she comes hunting for _both_ of us. Personal scrutiny from one Hand is enough for me.”

 

The next few days trekking through the mountains were a blur. We were on the move every morning before the sun cleared the horizon, and we didn’t stop until late afternoon. Trying to hike through snow-drenched mountains in the dark was tantamount to suicide, so instead our evenings were spent re-organizing and getting an official head count. I was right in the middle of it, helping Leliana get names and sort out who was missing and getting the civilians organized into six separate groups, one for each of the units of soldiers. The soldiers were exceedingly outnumbered, of course, but what mattered was getting as accurate a count as we could. Each evening we would go through and gather as many unassigned people as we could and get them resettled, one group finished each night. 

We had roughly one thousand, eight hundred and seventeen people in what was left of the Inquisition.

Once my legs decided not to fall off, I was practically uncontainable, bouncing from the front to the rear of the column and everywhere in between. I spoke to everyone about anything; I wanted to know _everything._ How did we have enough food? Rationing and hunters. What happened to the excrement we left behind? It just got left. What did that person do? They were a merchant. Where were their wares? Haven. Did that mean they were still a merchant? Depends. On what? Whether or not they had other sources of revenue outside Haven. 

Most people thought me relatively simple for some of the questions I asked (like the ones regarding poop. For the record, shitting in the bushes? _Nothing_ like shitting in the snow. There are some places snow is just not meant to be) but for the most part, I think they were amused. Leliana in particular giggled uncontrollably for about twenty minutes straight when I asked her if she’d help me if I got my tongue stuck to Cullen’s armor.

I took that as a no. I wasn’t terribly offended; I was having too much fun pretending I was Indiana Jones

One of the last days we spent travelling, I made such an ass of myself in two seconds and unintentionally started a free-for-all snowball fight. My aim has never been exactly stellar, and in my defense I was aiming for Kirill, but I managed to hit Cullen square in the face. He’d gone absolutely still before slowly wiping a hand down his face and giving me such a flat look I thought I was a goner right then and there. Two of his lieutenants he’d been going over reports with took giant steps back as he regarded me, second snowball already in my left hand, trying my utmost to contain my giggling.

Quick as a cat, he’d scooped up his own handful of snow and I’d shrieked and gone incorporeal by reflex, which meant that instead of his snowball hitting my chest the way it was supposed to, he somehow managed to catch Dorian in the back.

“Cheater!” Kirill bellowed at me, and before I knew it he was barreling toward me with an armload of snow and dowsing me just as I dimmed the lyrium. I came up fully loaded; I don’t think Kirill was prepared to deal with a native New Yorker when it came to snowball fights. Want to know how much snow I dealt with in an average winter off Lake Placid? Almost nine feet. Kirill had enough time to register sheer terror before I descended upon him, screaming like a banshee.

It was pure chaos for almost an hour. Cullen finally called a halt to the fighting when the mages organized and started fortifying their snowballs with ice barriers and melting the snow around everyone else. I was drenched head to toe, my dark curls springing free of the braid I’d managed to coax them into and plastering my face. I was grinning from ear to ear, and from what I could tell so was everyone else. Kirill was shirtless again, God knows why, and had somehow managed to wrestle Bull to the ground and had just been tackled by a shrieking Sera when Cullen’s yell froze them mid-fight.

It was Cullen himself that had me trying to stifle laughter. The esteemed Commander, paragon of self-control and proper behaviour, was just as dishevelled as the rest of us. As red-faced as Kirill’s beard, he had snow caked into his fur mantle and his hair was . . .

Delightful. His carefully controlled curls were drenched, any hope of keeping them contained lost in the snow. My breath caught in my throat; I’d never seen a man more beautiful. At least, not in person; Jason Momoa was, after all, far too amazing to ever have been near the likes of me. And Jason Momoa would never have looked over at me, drenched in snow and hair piled like a mop on top my head, and _laughed._

If I could hear that sound every day for the rest of my life, it would never be enough.

I sobered abruptly. The fuck was I to think that kind of thing? I was acting like I had my pick of romance options, just like in the game. But these were _real people;_ any relationships I developed with them would be night and day compared to whatever I’d had before with their digital doubles. Who was I to even _think_ Cullen Rutherford would want anything to do with me on a personal level? I knew things about him he didn’t even want to _think_ about. We didn’t know each other, and other than the fact that we were going to be living in the same castle for the foreseeable future, we had nothing in common. I loved a caricature of him I’d met in a video game; had always loved that Cullen, from the moment he’d awkwardly flirted with my first Amell. He didn’t even know my middle name.

Ignoring the startled looks of concern, I bolted.

It was Kirill who caught up to me, thankfully pulling on a shirt. Why he was so determined to go around in his breeches I had no idea. “Ila? Everything all right? You bolted out of there real quick.” 

“It is so _different,_ Kirill. Everything is so _different._ I just had a snow fight with the Inquisition. Cullen was _laughing._ I have never seen this happen. I do not belong here, I should not be here, but I am stuck here and I keep doing things the way I would have if I was still just playing the game, but I am not. This is not my story and I do not belong.” I crossed my arms in front of my chest, holding myself as if I could keep myself from falling apart.

“Ila. Breathe.” I did as he said, forcing a deep breath from my diaphragm as I’d been taught. “I don’t know what your part will be in this story, Ila, but I’ll be damned if you think you don’t have a place here. You just made an entire group of pissed angry desperates laugh together for the first time in _weeks_. And those mages? They haven’t willingly interacted with _anyone_ outside of their unit since this whole mess started. I don’t know what kind of role you think you _should_ be doing, but I’ll be content with you just keeping people smiling.” 

He let out a sigh of exasperation when he saw that I remained unconvinced. “Alright. Come with me girl. Let me show you something I know will make you feel better.”

“What is it?”

“Just follow me!” 

He led me out of camp, up into a small pass just north of camp. The sun was just setting, the mountains around us illuminated with the most brilliant shades of gold and orange, the shadows of the peaks stretching across the valleys and ridges of the range. It was utterly breathtaking. 

“It’s beautiful, is it not?”

I nodded mutely. Then he pointed toward something in the distance, across the valley below us. 

Hanging off the mountain, standing as strong and tall as the day it was built, was a fortress of epic proportions. I gaped openly at the stronghold as Kirill chuckled beside me.

“Skyhold,” he said with all the flair of a professional drama queen. “Welcome home, Ila. We’ll be there by tomorrow night.”


	13. Within These Walls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ila enters Skyhold (eventually) and realizes how little she is prepared for life in Thedas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this is so late, I finally went back to work this week after being on medical leave and since they'd made the schedule already mostly I ended up with not my normal shifts and it was v stressful and very full of shit (Wednesday night was a _bitch._ Ask me about the poop in the pool. Do it. I dare you) and I ended up being way tired and sleepy and thus did not get this up when I meant to T.T But it's here! Yay! And I'm just saying, this is by far my favorite Dorian/Ila interaction so far. Just saying. Love the nerds uwu

Skyhold was so much more than I’d ever imagined. I mean, it always had been bigger than what we saw in the game, otherwise where would everyone sleep? But the sheer scale of the fortress as we approached the next day was nothing short of _massive._ I wanted to go exploring immediately, but Leliana gave me a stern “No!” and sat me down right next to her where they’d set up their command table so she could keep an eye on me. I was less than happy with this development and tried to argue that I’d never heard of them finding anything dangerous in the keep, but she was having none of it. I sulked on the ground beside her, slowly reading through whatever reports she finished with that weren’t information sensitive.

Kirill gave me an amused side-eye as he walked up to confer with Leliana about how to proceed. “Did you run into some trouble, to be put in timeout with us?”

“She wanted to explore the keep before my scouts have cleared it,” Leliana replied, not looking up from the reports on the table. I scowled, not bothering to look up from my own report and rapidly growing more and more done with this whole situation. Skyhold was _right there_ across the bridge, happy as could be, and the whole of the Inquisition was parked outside her door instead of safe inside the gates. And to top it off, I was being reminded of how exceptionally awful I was at reading Common. It’s only saving grace was that it was written left to right like English; none of the characters were even remotely similar and their punctuation made absolutely no sense. I used to be able to read a six hundred page book in four hours; now I was taking a half hour to read one God-forsaken page and actually make sense of it.

“You wanted to just go barging in there with no idea what might be lurking inside?” the outrage in his voice surprised me enough for me to look up from the page I held, meeting his copper eyes in confusion.

“Yes?”

“Have you ever been part of a scout of an ancient fortress before?” his eyes flashed dangerously.

I thought back to the games. There had been plenty of ancient ruins and abandoned temples that we’d gone through -

Oh.

I paled a little as I realized what he was getting at and nodded mutely as Kirill growled at me. “There are demons in there. Possibly ancient spirits that need to be sent back to the Fade. Giant spiders? For all we know there could be a nest of dragonlings! You are not a trained soldier. You are not a scout, you have had relatively little combat training of any sort, and you do not get to go exploring the fortress until the scouts come back and give the all-clear, is that understood?” Another mute nod.

“I did not . . . I did not think that such things were common,” I whispered.

Leliana and Kirill exchanged a glance. “Were such places not dangerous in your world?” Leliana asked.

I shook my head. “Not like this. We have no spirits or demons, and most creatures will not fight you if you do not bother them. Very few places are left like this, anyways. Most are -” I struggled to find a way to say ‘tourists’. “Kept for entertainment?” 

The both stared at me. “You don’t have demons in your world?” Kirill finally asked incredulously.

“No. No giant spiders either. Just small ones. Unless you lived in Australia, but then they were still small compared to the giant ones here.”

“Bloody hell. How in the Maker’s name is that possible?” I suppressed a snort. A giant redhead just used the Thedosian equivalent to Ron Weasley’s favorite epithet. I had the sudden urge to sing ‘Weasley Is Our King’ when Kirill was inducted as the Inquisitor, but somehow I didn’t think that’d go over well. Not to mention the only person who was likely to even understand me was Dorian.

“Solas says there is no Fade connected to my world. No Fade, no spirits.”

Silence. “But . . . what happens when you die, if your soul does not pass through the Fade?”

The corner of my mouth pulled into a small half-grin. “That is a matter of some debate.”

_”Maker.”_

Brandon would kick me for not taking the opportunity to talk about Christianity, but Brandon wasn’t here. The thought momentarily saddened me; Brandon was the fourth oldest of my brothers (third since Michael’s death), almost four years older than me and a pastor at a small church in DC. His favorite way to annoy us siblings was to send us these ridiculous little Christian-themed postcards with ‘encouragements’ like “God knows His plans for you!” on them. It’s not that we weren’t religious or that he was ultra religious; he had a fairly subtle sense of humor and knew the postcards would earn several eye-rolls. I had a box of the stupid things that I drew dicks on and would fold into paper airplanes to throw at him whenever he annoyed me while visiting.

It never failed to make him laugh, though. He was the kind of pastor that actually supported the idea that God was more about love than rules.

I missed him.

Before I fell too far down that incredibly depressing line of thought, a scout appeared at the gates and jogged back across the bridge to us, handing Leliana what looked to be a detailed schematic of the keep. “Last of the the accessible areas are clear, sir. There’s a few spots where walls have collapsed and hallways and rooms can’t be reached, but once we get everyone moved in we can clear those out with larger squads.”

Leliana nodded, eyes scanning the map. “Go and tell the Commander and the Seeker that we are ready to move in, and then rally the rest of the scouts to helps get people settled.” She didn’t even so much as glance at me as she grasped the edge of my cloak to keep me from running off. “ _You_ do not get to go running off. I don’t care how excited you are, you are obviously ill-prepared for what might happen if you go exploring alone.”

“But he just said -”

“Ila. _Sit down._ ”

I was pouting again, and Kirill wasn’t even trying to hide his amusement at my petulance. “If she has an escort, I’m sure she’d be fine.”

“I can walk through walls!” I offered helpfully. When they both gave me a surprised glance, I pulled on my lyrium to go incorporeal. If Leliana knew I had a way to stay out of danger . . .

An aggrieved sigh. “I am apparently outmaneuvered. But no going alone! Take Dorian with you at the very least. I would feel better if it was The Iron Bull, but we need him to organize his men and I do _not_ trust you and Sera to behave yourselves.”

I was practically buzzing with excitement. _Skyhold._ I was about to actually walk around _Skyhold._ I could see the garden, the main hall, the war room, the Inquisitor’s quarters, I could even climb up and see the whole in what would be Cullen’s room. I knew exactly where to take Dorian first, and the fact that Leliana didn’t trust me with Sera was both mildly insulting and something to consider with delightful anticipation.

Something to consider _after_ I got into Skyhold, though.

Without waiting for either of them to change their minds, I hurtled back through the camp in search of Dorian. I found him conversing with Varric, who, upon hearing that I wanted to go exploring the ancient castle, volunteered to come with us as the ‘responsible adult’ chaperone. He lifted an eyebrow at me when I snorted (a common reaction that I was becoming entirely too used to) and I smirked at him. 

“The same ‘responsible adult’ who thought it was great fun to tell . . . funny things? “ I frowned. So much for being clever. “ _The fuck do you say ‘joke’’ in Common?_ ” I asked Dorian. He told me with a chuckle. “Great fun to tell Templar jokes to the apostate til he turned blue.”

“Hey, not my fault Blondie couldn’t take a joke. Besides, he gave as good as he got most of the time.” A shadow passed across his face that I didn’t want to contemplate right now. _You’re about to explore Skyhold,_ I reminded myself. No more bad news or thoughts, not right now. Enjoy this moment.

As soon as the two men were up, I was dancing back through the camp to the bridge. Cullen and Cassandra had joined Leliana and Kirill by the bridge and I waved at them cheerfully as I waltzed past, Dorian and Varric following in a much more peaceful manner.

“Where do they think they are going?” I heard Cassandra ask.

“To appease Ila’s unholy sense of curiosity,” Leliana snorted as we passed out of earshot.

To my surprise, we were met on the other side of the bridge by a familiar dwarf. “Sister Leliana sent word ahead that you were coming,” Lace Harding greeted us without preamble as I strove valiantly not to freak out and swing her into a hug. It was no end of frustration that the game let me flirt with her and then didn’t follow through with a romance. “I can’t say I understand why, but you’re clear to explore. Just stay together, and be sure you’ve checked in with me by nightfall or else I’ll send search parties out for you and _you’ll_ be the ones dealing with the Nightingale’s wrath,” she grinned at our collective groan, and I noticed with extreme glee that she couldn’t seem to keep her eyes off of Dorian. 

“Anything we should know before heading in, Harding?” Varric asked.

She shrugged. “We cleared out a nest of spiders in the kitchens, and from the sounds of it, there might be a family of fennecs living in one of the lower hallways. It’s blocked off for now, we’ll probably have the Chargers go through and clear the collapsed hallways over the next few days. Oh, and stay away from anything marked with a black cloth, those areas are structurally unsound. Other than that, have at it.”

Varric shuddered. “Well, so long as there’s no spiders left, we’ll head off. Can’t have Lightning over here combusting from lack of satisfied curiosity.”

I was already moving toward the stairs that would lead to the upper courtyard and the main hall grinning from ear to ear at ‘Lightning’. “Thank you, Lace!” I shouted over my shoulder. Wincing slightly at the sharp inhalation I heard as we walked away, I wanted to kick myself; I wasn’t supposed to know her name. If I wasn’t more careful, I was going to paint a pretty little unhappy target on my back.

“Aren’t you supposed to be keeping all that stuff you shouldn’t know _inside_ your head where no one else can hear it?” Varric echoed my thoughts as I led them over to the Herald’s Rest. 

“Yes,” I responded softly. “It is hard. I will do better, but I am still having trouble remembering that this is not a game. I cannot act as I am used to with all of you.” I traced a hand down along the door frame to the currently-decrepit ‘Rest. Dorian stepped up beside me and peered into the darkened building, then back at my face.

“What are you seeing in there that we aren’t?”

“A . . . drink man, a tavern, and too many songs I cannot sing because they are not written yet.”

“You know, I think I’m going to like you. You spit out better shit in one sentence than Hawke ever could in a whole night.”

I shot Varric a grin. “I will try to live up to your expectations, Varric. Shall we go to the library?”

Both men visibly perked up at the mention of a library, so I led them quickly through the main hall, reveling in the almost eerie quiet of the abandoned keep. The library was dusty, dirty, and had evidently been home to several families of rats and birds, if the droppings were any indication. None of us cared a bit, though; we were too busy inspecting the books.

The library was even more massive than the game had suggested. Where the game had a library on only one level of the rookery with two levels, here there were five levels, four of which were devoted to the libraries. The books, though obviously old, were in miraculously good shape, and filled maybe a third of the available space. I commented on their good condition to Dorian, who only muttered something about preservation magics. 

After an hour or so, I got too frustrated by my lack of understanding of the books and drifted about the library aimlessly, staring down at Solas’ now barren rotunda and then moving to look out one of the small windows facing the lower courtyard. From here I could see Cullen’s tower and the gates, through which poured the people of the Inquisition. The sounds of their milling about and getting themselves sorted could very faintly be heard, and even from a distance I recognized the red of Cullen’s furred cloak as he directed the arrangement of the camp that was growing within the walls. After several minutes, I spied Leliana and Kirill emerge from the room off the gate, and Cassandra met them before all three moved into the crowd and I lost sight of them and my eyes drifted back to Cullen.

“See anything interesting?” 

Dorian’s voice startled me and for a moment I lit blue. “Do not _do_ that, Dorian!” I laughed, clutching at my heart in mock terror. “Everything is interesting. I do not know what you are talking about,” I feigned innocence.

Up popped an eyebrow. “So you weren’t just staring out the window at a certain ex-Templar? A very dashing, heroic, strong, honorable -”

“I know what he is!” I interrupted, face blazing. “Are you certain _you_ are not interested the Commander? You seem very aware of his finer points.”

“Alas, I’m afraid my tastes are a bit larger than life. I’m afraid I am doomed to a life of bachelorhood.”

His words were made lightly, but I could see the self-loathing in his eyes even as he avoided mine. I reached up, mentally braced myself, and gently grasped his chin and pulled his face around to mine. “I think,” I said softly, “that you give yourself too little . . . faith.” It wasn’t quite the word I was looking for, but it would do. “You will have happiness. You _deserve_ happiness. _Your father had no right to try and change you, Dorian. You’re perfect the way you are, and I would have you no other way._ ” I finished in English.

For a moment he stared at me, then tears pricked the corners of his eyes and he drew a shaky breath before they streamed down his cheeks. Resting his forehead against mine, he closed his eyes and whispered “Thank you. I . . . will try to believe you speak the truth.”

“Do that,” I smirked. “It will happen quite a bit from now on.”

“My darling Ilaria, how ever did I survive without you.” His arms reached around my shoulder in the first embrace I’d received since my arrival.

I sighed in contentment despite the burning that crept up every exposed inch of skin. _Worth it for a Dorian hug,_ I thought happily. “Poorly, I am sure,”

That got a solid laugh out of him. “Quite. Well now, I think I’ve made enough of a mess of myself for one day, and since the sun seems to be chasing the horizon and the camp is almost settled I think it best that we make our way back before we are missed.” Before I could pull away, he placed both hands on my cheeks and tilted my head down to kiss my forehead. “I know it must be hard for you, to be apart from everything you’ve ever known, but I am glad that you are here. Selfish of me, I suppose. But I can’t help but think that you are here more for my benefit than any other reason.”

“If that is true, I am glad of it.” I pulled away slowly and idly rubbed my hand over my cheeks to try to rub some kinder sensation into my skin. “Varric,” I called out, “It is time to go!” When he didn’t answer, I exchanged a concerned look with Dorian and we both went looking for the wayward author.

We found him tucked into a small room wedged behind several shelves, what looked to have once been a storage room of some sort. Varric had somehow managed to find an entire sheaf of papers and several inkwells, and was writing furiously with his little glasses perched on the tip of his nose. It was so surreal I couldn’t help but laugh. “Trust you to be the one to find writing supplies in the ancient castle,” I joked.

“Uh huh.” He didn’t stop writing, didn’t even look up. 

I rolled my eyes. “Varric, we need to head back if we want to avoid angering Harding. Do you want us to leave you here for her to find or will you come back with us?”

He shuffled his papers with a long-suffering sigh. “I’m coming. Go ahead and go back, I’ll be right behind you.”

“If we tell the Seeker he’s ignoring orders from Scout Harding, do you think she’d come and shout at him? I haven’t seen a good row in _weeks_ ,” Dorian whispered as we made our way down the stairs.

“If you are patient, you will see a much better fight soon. I will let you know when it is coming,” I assured him, thinking about Cassandra’s rage at Hawke’s arrival.

Oh my God. Hawke’s arrival. I hadn’t even _considered_ the fact that Hawke would be here soon. I had the strangest sense of deja vu at the thought, since Hawke had always been _me_ and now I would be meeting them. _I hope it’s Marian,_ I thought gleefully, _And I hope she’s purple._


	14. Dualism and Sudden Introspection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Inquisitor is named and repairs begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I'm finally back on track, the last two weeks have been NUTS but things have sort of settled down and I should be back on regular updates ^.^

The camp was bursting with energy the next morning, everyone excited at the prospect of finally settling in somewhere that was so obviously capable of providing protection against what was, to them, a new and exceedingly dangerous enemy. The sky was clear, and the rising sun was throwing brilliant strokes of orange and gold across the horizon as the stars began to make their silent disappearances. The smell of campfires and hot meals drifted throughout the courtyard along with the quiet sounds of a camp coming awake to face the days of work ahead.

I couldn’t stop staring at everything. My chest was bursting with anticipation for the induction of Kirill as Inquisitor and I _still_ could not get over just how massive Skyhold was. Our explorations the day before had been completely sidelined by the library (Varric had been dragged back to camp late that night by a _very_ irritated Cassandra), so I hadn’t had the chance to fully explore the differences from what I expected and what was here. Other than the grander scale to everything, I had noticed on Harding’s map that the walls were actually hollow. The outside wall was probably around eight meters thick, and then there was a hallway and the inner wall was lined with small rooms. Despite the height of the walls, which I would guestimate to be around six stories, there were only three stories of rooms, probably to help keep the wall as strong as possible. I had no doubt that the rooms would house many of the Inquisition’s common folk and soldiers in the days to come.

The building I knew would be our stables could hardly be seen from behind the collapsed skybridge on that end of the courtyard, but judging from the roof it looked to be big enough for probably thirty or so horses, maybe a few more if the stalls were smaller, and there seemed to be a veritable field surrounding it that would have plenty of room for corrals and even possibly an arena. I decided to find Dennet at some point and volunteer to help with the horses. I missed horses. Living in NYC was not exactly the best way to get one’s horse fix when one had grown up on a ranch. Is it weird to miss mucking stalls? Because I missed mucking stalls.

I stuck close to Dorian that morning. The man had the patience of a Saint, I discovered, and a tactfulness that allowed him to keep me diverted well enough until something could be found for me to do. At one point, after I’d declared that I was going to start walking through the walls of the keep to explore more fully, he threw his hands up. “Have you always been this hyper? Were you like this back home? Because I despair of keeping up with your energy if you continue like this. You’re worse than a crazed druffalo calf!”

The comparison was somewhat lost on me seeing as I’d never seen a crazed druffalo calf but I definitely got the gist of what he was saying. I thought for a long moment and realized that no, I really hadn’t ever been this energetic in my life.

The thought brought me to a screeching halt (much to Dorian’s amusement; I basically zoned out, lost in thought for like five minutes while he took advantage of the pause to steal my toast). Back home, I was quiet. I liked being in the background, I preferred to read and listen to music and sing and play my cello and occasionally go shopping at FAO Schwarz because I am a five year old child at heart. I lived with one roommate in a two bedroom apartment that I could afford only because my dad had done everything in his power to make sure I wouldn’t go through life the way I entered it, abandoned and alone. I didn’t like to be loud, I didn’t like to draw attention to myself.

Except I _did._

I was (almost) an Olympic swimmer. I competed in international championships for almost four years before my accident took me out of competition just before London in 2012. I thrived in the spotlight, and had my best swims under the most pressure and I’d once laughed outright when a teammate told me he didn’t believe I was an introvert because of how spastic I was on a pool deck. My whole family had been shocked to hell when I started doing theatre, and I thrived onstage, eventually getting into Juilliard and then landing the role of Eponine. I loved it. I loved being the center of attention. I liked the thrill followed by the chill, going crazy and then going full couch potato.

But part of that had to do with comfort. I was _comfortable_ on a pool deck. I was _comfortable_ on stage. They were places where I felt strong, where I felt capable, where I knew that I could disappear for a few hours and take a bit of a reality break before going back to ‘real life’. 

That’s how this felt; being in Thedas was a strange dualism of fantasy and reality for me. It was a place I felt very comfortable being (sometimes detrimentally so, as the day before had pointed out) and it had been an escape from reality for me for years now, but since I’d spent my first months here without any memory of home, I had a weird adjustment to Thedas as a truth. I understood the basics of being a Thedosian while still being undeniably American. The conflicts between the two were eased by my memory-less transition, amplifying the escapist comfort I already had and letting me come out of my shell of protection in what was quite possibly the most amazing (to me) or most annoying (to others) way possible.

“I . . . no. Not always,” I confessed. “Only when I was at ease? I will probably get better once the excitement of being with the Inquisition grows old. If it bothers you, I can try to calm down a bit, but I will probably forget.”

He waved me off. “No need, darling, I just wanted to make sure you don’t need an intervention. Maker knows we’ve all needed some energy the last few weeks; maybe you can use all that excess energy to help get the rest of our spirits up.” 

Before I could think of a response, I was alerted to a large group of people convening at one end of our camp, over by the stairs to the upper courtyard. Leliana stood on the walkway above us, holding in her hands the largest sword I’d ever seen.

I gasped. “Dorian! It is happening!” I grabbed his arm, completely oblivious for once to the burning of my hand.

“What’s happening? What are you talking about?” he asked in mild panic. I shushed him and stretched to my feet. We were too far away to hear what was being said clearly and there were too many people now to push forward, but I saw Kirill mount the steps with Cassandra and I swear I fainted for a moment. My inner fangirl was completely out of control and it took everything in me not to shriek like a banshee in excitement because _I was about to see the Inquisitor be named!_

My heart was pounding in excitement, harder than I’d ever felt before and I let myself fully believe, for this one event, that everything I was experiencing was truly and wholly real. I didn’t worry that I was in a coma, I didn’t worry that I was on drugs or maybe finally had that mental breakdown my mother had always said was coming, I didn’t worry about anything. I was a fucking _nerd_ living in fucking _Thedas_ and I was about to see the fucking _Inquisitor_ agree to lead the fucking _Inquisition._ It was one of those moments where I just felt that my whole life was worth living to have seen it, that I could die five seconds after it ended and be completely content.

I could hear Cullen yelling from far ahead of us, joined my voice to the crowd’s roaring response each time he gave his call. I could see Leliana bow over the blade, hear the rumble of Kirill’s response, and watched as the rising winter sun lit the blade he lifted high above his head.

I was yelling my head off; I yelled like I’ve never yelled in my life, could feel my vocal cords tearing with the force of my yell. The words from the beginning of the game, the iconic quote that got plastered everywhere in regards to Inquisition fluttered through my mind and I whispered to them in what I couldn’t decide whether it was hope or fear;

_”Whatever we were before, we are are now the Inquisition.”_

 

 

In no time at all, Cullen was standing up the stairs above everyone and directing crews about the keep. “I want everyone arranged with their units, civilians with the units they were assigned for the camp. Lieutenant Chamberterre, your unit will be in charge of clearing and cleaning throughout the main keep. Lieutenant Fredrik, your people will please go through the battlements while Lieutenant Travis will focus on clearing the courtyards. Lieutenant Ricci and her people will deal with allocating and distributing supplies to the proper places as marked on your maps by Harding, and Knight-Captain Rylen, your people will corral the livestock down into the valley while Bull -”

“That’s _The_ Iron Bull, Commander!”

“- _The_ Iron Bull and his Chargers establish a guard routine. Any questions or concerns can be directed to your acting Lieutenant and any dangers need to be reported to a member of the Inner Circle _immediately._ ” He took a moment to look around at the sea of faces staring up at him in determination. “We will not be driven from the home we will make here. We will not let the loss of Haven destroy our resolve to see those responsible for the tragedy of the Conclave brought to justice.”

A rumble of agreement rolled through the crowd before Cullen dismissed the crowd. The stampede of people in various directions was slightly hilarious to be in the midst of and it took me all of a minute of excited milling about to realize that I had never been assigned a unit. Immediately deciding this was a grievous oversight I went looking for Leliana.

“No, of course you weren’t. You’re staying where I can keep an eye on you.”

“Doing what?”

“Much the same as yesterday, and helping me review reports.”

I glared at her. “No.” Silence. I met her baleful stare steadily and tried to keep my anger under control. I’d worked my whole life; I’d grown up shoveling horse poop, and heavy lifting? Please. Was I out of peak shape? Yes, but only because peak shape for me was a standard much higher than the average person. I had been blessed with a naturally muscular physicality; it was part of why I’d excelled so much at swimming. “I am strong, Leliana, and I _want_ to help. I cannot read to help you and I will not sit by and be useless while everyone else works!”

“Practicing reading is hardly useless, I should think, especially with as frustrated as it makes you to read so slowly. And since I would have you work closely with me in the future it only makes sense for you to get used to working beside me as often as possible.”

For a moment I was completely sidetracked by the fact that Leliana apparently wanted me to work with her. Was it just to keep an eye on me? To make sure I wasn’t a spy, wasn’t a liar, wasn’t working against the Inquisition that was the legacy of her beloved Dorothea? It almost didn’t matter with the way excitement flooded through me before I remembered myself. “There will be lots of time to learn, Leliana. We will not be sorting the keep forever. Please, I feel so useless. I can _help,_ ” I insisted.

“She can come with me, Leliana. I’ll keep an eye on her for you and make sure she gets back to you in one piece,” came the rumble of the recently-entitled Inquisitor. I shot Leliana a pleading look and she threw her hands up in exasperation.

“Fine. But she is not to draw attention to herself, and if you bring her back injured I will not hold back from harming _you_ ,” she threatened.

“Leliana, it is almost as if you care,” I said theatrically, bringing a hand to my forehead in a mock swoon.

“I would never!” She protested. “I hardly would wish to risk one of our most precious assets in this war,” she stated with a glance at Kirill’s hand before her eyes softened and returned to mine. “And if you truly think that my sharing camp with you, sharing my _tent_ with you for almost a month was possible without my developing _any_ fondness for you, you don’t know me half as well as you proclaim.”

“That . . . you -” to my utter horror, my voice actually _cracked._ I was not emotionally prepared for the possibility of being friends, much less possibly _good_ friends with Leliana. She’d always been so . . . _unstable_ in Inquisition that it had never crossed my mind that we’d get along so well.

She rolled her eyes at my obviously diminishing control of my emotions. “Go with the Herald, Ila. If you tell anyone what I said, I will deny it. The Nightingale does not get sentimental.”

Kirill didn’t wait another moment before grabbing the edge of my cloak and pulling me after him. Leliana’s words rang in my head, and the way she’d emphasized “The Nightingale” gave me pause; it made me wonder what the persona had come to mean in the minds of her allies and enemies, and how much of what I’d seen in the game might have been some horrible bastardization of her persona and Leliana herself.

“Where are we going?” I asked eagerly.

“Down to help clear the courtyard and get all that rubble stacked neatly for the workers to try to repair the bridge. Then we’ll head into the walls to see what needs done, stop by the main hall, the upper courtyard, maybe pop into a tower or two and see if we have time to stop by the encampment before dark,” he rumbled without slowing pace at all. I don’t know if I’d really paid attention before, but he really was _tall_ and when he was on a mission, there was no slowing down. I was tall, but not that tall, and I suddenly understood how short people felt when I power walked away from them as I scrambled to keep up.

Cullen had already set up his table at the foot of the stairs when we went by, and Kirill stopped for a quick report from the Commander. I didn’t bother to listen in until I saw a figure jog across the courtyard and hand Cullen another report, which he took with a quiet word to the man.

The man then stood awkwardly until Cullen growled at him, and then darted away.

I couldn’t help it; I walked forward and interrupted the two men. “What is that man’s name?” I asked as innocently as possible.

Kirill and Cullen exchanged a confused look before Kirill answered. “James, isn’t it?”

Cullen nodded. “He goes by Jim, though. Scout Jim. He’s a good lad, if a bit scattered sometimes.”

I stared at him. _No fucking way._ “Scout . . . Jim?”

“Yes?”

I took a deep breath and then promptly burst into the most ridiculous peal of laughter I have ever uttered in my life. I had to walk away, I was laughing so hard, and even then I only made it about ten feet before I was on the ground. _Scout Jim_. No _fucking_ way. This was like the equivalent of waking up in Middle Earth and finding out that one elf’s name really _was_ Figwit. I did not have the mental capacity at the moment to do anything but cackle wildly, curled up on the ground inside the gates of Skyhold with tears of laughter streaming down my face and ribs aching as they spasmed. I’m at least ninety percent certain that everyone watching thought I was possessed; apparently Cullen was worried enough that he had someone go and get Dorian from where he was helping clear out the refuse in the kitchen.

“Ila darling, you’re beginning to frighten the good people of the Inquisition. If you can’t calm yourself, may we at least be let in on the joke?” Dorian asked mildly.

_”Scout Jim!”_ I coughed out in broken Tevene. _”His name is_ James! _What are the odds? There is literally no reason for that to be his name. None! But it is! Even the fanon was right! I can’t believe he’s fucking Scout Jim!”_

“He’s fucking whom?” Dorian frowned. “Is it so unusual to have a name? I don’t understand what’s so funny.”

The incredible confusion on everyone’s face only made me laugh harder until I realized that tears were streaming down my face. Not just happy tears; lonely tears. I was mortified. Scout Jim was a running joke in the Dragon Age fandom, the unfortunate scout that always seemed to end up on Cullen’s bad side. In the game he wasn’t named, but he was so notorious the fandom gave him a name and it stuck. If I was home, I would have several different people who would have been laughing hysterically beside me, but here he was just another person, nothing particularly special other than his tendency towards excellently bad timing. I felt both incredibly filled with mirth at the remarkable coincidence and incredibly lonely that I had no one to share my humor with, no one who could or ever likely would understand the joke.

I hated this as much as I had loved the ceremony earlier. I didn’t want to keep feeling torn between worlds. Whatever was happening to me was wonderful . . . and it was horrible. It was both the easiest thing I’d ever been thrown into and the hardest. Both Thedas and Earth felt like home, but neither felt like I belonged, not truly anymore. 

I managed to pretend my tears were laughter and rub them away once I’d recovered, though from the look Kirill levelled at me he didn’t believe me for a moment. I gave him a look to say _We’ll talk later_ and then rolled my sleeves up. There was work to be done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also just so you guys know, I usually post on tumblr if a chapter is going to be late and explain why so if you want to kinda stay updated on that (or get bombarded with dragon age stuffs) feel free to follow me! I believe there's a link below somewhere ^.^


	15. You Can't Escape The Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ila puts her foot down regarding certain habits from home, and is confronted on her more immediate past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because things can't be fun all the time :(

The next week was arguably one of the busiest and most physically taxing of my life. Kirill claimed me as his partner in crime every day, waking me at dawn and dragging me around the keep til dusk. By the end of the week I was sore, tired, dirty-encrusted, and had managed to earn myself a reputation as a bit of a scandalous woman (much to Josephine’s intense disapproval).

It had started at the end of the week when Kirill and I were helping clear the rubble of the sky bridge from the lower courtyard and the worst of travesties occurred;

I started sweating.

“Why is it so hot?” I groaned as I wiped the horrid stuff off my brow. “I thought it was supposed to be cold in the mountains!”

“It is,” Kirill laughed. “But the weather is fair, spring is well on the way, and we’ve been working hard. What’s wrong with a bit of sweat?”

“It is _sweat_ ,” I complained. “Everything is wrong with it!” I stuck my tongue out at him as he chuckled. _”This is why I liked swimming. No one sweats in a pool.”_

“Ila, you know I don’t speak Tevene. You grumbling like that does no one any good.”

“I do not speak Tevene. Dorian speaks ‘Tevene,’ I speak English. The most confusing language on Earth, and I am a born speaker, thank you very much. It is practically a talent.”

“If you’re from Earth, how is it possible for you to speak a language that is here in Thedas?”

“If I knew that, I would also know why I was here and how I got here and if this really was a dream or not and nothing would be confusing except for why it is so damn hot!” Without waiting for him to come up with a response, I pulled off my heavy wool tunic and tossed it over to where I’d left my cloak earlier, leaving me in just my pants and long-sleeved undershirt.

Kirill cleared his throat. “Ila, I realize that you are hot, but is that really cause enough to strip in public?”

“I am hardly naked,” I scoffed. “I am completely covered still. You are lucky I do not take a knife to the pants, but I do not want to break them since they are my only pair.”

“Break them?” 

“Cut them, here and here, so they are short.” I indicated the spots on each leg at just above mid-thigh.

“But what would cover your legs?” the Inquisitor sputtered.

“Nothing!” I said happily before turning to lug another boulder off the pile. My enthusiasm lasted only about five more seconds before I felt another drop of sweat roll down the back of my neck.

Before anyone knew what was happening, I pitched my boulder to the side along with the rest of the ‘for repair’ rocks and plunked myself on the ground to roll my pant legs up. That completed, I pulled off the undershirt and threw it over with the rest of my clothes. The sudden stunned silence was incredibly amusing and I could practically hear Kirill’s disapproval. It was not, however, Kirill that confronted me on my state of dress.

“What in the Maker’s name are you wearing?!” came the angry and strident tones of none other than Cassandra. _I am so fucked_ , I thought in mildly amused horror.

“Clothes?”

Her eyes flashed, and I could actually see her jaw clench. Really, I should have learned from Varric that she doesn’t handle the whole ‘sarcasm’ thing well. “Are you certain? Because you appear to be less than properly attired. Did not Leliana give you clothing?”

“She did,” I drawled. “But it is hot, and we are working hard. It is easier to stay cool when one is not trapped in heavy wool.”

“So you thought it better to work naked?”

I looked to Kirill for help, but he merely smirked and tilted his head as if to say _You’re on your own._ “I am not naked, Cassandra, all the important parts are covered.” It was true; while I wasn’t wearing a bra, nor any sort of ‘breastband’, exactly, I’d taken to wrapping a sort of makeshift bandage around my torso sort of akin to an ace bandage. It wasn’t meant to offer any support, and was only tight enough to make sure it wouldn’t slip off, but my ladies were adequately covered. I didn’t need anything more than that; there was a reason my best friend from high school had dubbed the Queen of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee. Even wrapped as lightly as they were they all but disappeared.

Her nostrils flared and I resisted the sudden and powerful urge to run, figuring that’d only piss her off more. “Perhaps you have yet to have been instructed on common decency within the Inquisition. I do not know where you come from, but here it is most improper for a woman to show herself so freely. You will dress yourself at once.”

“No.”

“I beg your pardon?” 

“I said no. I am very hot, Cassandra, and I will be working for hours yet. I do not want to get sick and I do not enjoy being hot. I am comfortable like this, and if it is truly a problem for me to work in such clothing I should ask that the men put on their own shirts as well.” Several of the men helping haul rubble looked at their bare chests.

“You represent the Inquisition,” she insisted. “We must show the world our best. You are not a common worker here; Kirill has asked for you to be part of his Inner Circle. We must maintain a higher standard of bearing.”

I love Cassandra; I always had. And I could see what she was getting at, and even agree to a point, but I was hot and I was sweaty and I’d been having a hell of a week and I was not going to be putting my clothes back on. “May we speak privately, Seeker?”

To my relief, she nodded and indicated for me to follow her into one of the gatehouses. Once we were inside, I didn’t give her a chance to lay into me again. “Cassandra, I am here to help. I do not want to cause anger but there are some things you should know and first is that if I anger you with this argument, I am fine with that, and if you hate me after this, I am fine with that also. But I will not put my tunic back on.”

She opened her mouth to argue further, but I cut her off. “I am not from Thedas, Cass, and the way we dress where I am from is far more revealing than this. I have spend most of my life wearing less, because I swam, and I am comfortable being seen like this. It does not bother me if people think less of me so long as I am comfortable. Since I have been in Thedas, I have been tortured, had my thoughts changed, forgot my past, been attacked, and have had people try to force me to be things I am not. I have asked for so little until now; I have spent so long just wanting only to not die that I think my asking you to let me dress how I please is a very small thing indeed.”

“I had not considered . . . it must be a very different place indeed, for you to be so at ease as you are.” Cassandra considered what I’d said before heaving a sigh. “If the Inquisitor is fine with you dressing as such, I will let it stand. I only ask that you refrain from walking around the keep naked.”

I laughed. “I am not that comfortable, Cassandra, do not worry.” 

“Is it so terrible for you, being here? I had thought you enjoyed life. The idea of being involved in my favorite story so personally . . .” a faint pink crept onto her face.

“Cassandra, if you are thinking the story I think you are thinking, I can assure you, this has been nothing like that.” I gave her a wicked grin, and she sputtered a bit while I laughed and promised not to tell Varric.

Kirill met us outside. “No fight to the death?”

“No,” I laughed, “though it would not be much of a fight. She would kill me without trouble, I think.”

“Says the woman who can walk through walls. You don’t have to fight anyone if you run fast enough.”

I shuddered, remembering the entire confrontation with Fenris back in Tevinter. “Trust me, I know.”

He gave me a strange look. “So what was the verdict?”

“She can remain as she is. It is all she asks of me in return for being here.” Cassandra said. 

Kirill seemed surprised by her statement, stopping so suddenly I almost bowled him over. “Ila, I am so sorry, I never even thought to ask. You are stuck here, offering us everything, and have asked for nothing. What do you want? Is there something we can offer you? Some way for us to help you?”

I stared at him, then Cassandra, who was nodding in agreement. “What?”

“What do you want?” he enunciated carefully. “Do you want land? Safety? Do you wish to travel, or merely stay here? To train? Do you want friends, or a family, or would you rather be left alone?” He gave me a piercing look. “I know you’d rather offer aid than give it, but I am telling you; ask for whatever you wish, and I will see that it is done.”

I was stunned. “You cannot be serious. I can give you almost nothing. There is no reason to offer me anything.”

They exchanged a glance and Kirill sighed. “Meet me in the new war room. I’m going to go find Cullen and Leliana as well. It seems we need to sort out our futures together.”

 

 

I slipped quietly into the war room. They had finished getting it set up just yesterday, and I lightly trailed a hand along the enormous table as I took in the wonder of a room I’d only ever imagined being in. Thoughts of what was to come sifted through my head, and I felt more than a little overwhelmed at what would happen here where I stood. At this table, across from where I was, Kirill would stand as the head of the Inquisition, making decisions that would shake this world. At some point, Morrigan would join them and their knowledge would coalesce beautifully to aid their fight. 

The table was bare at the moment save for the map, which I realized with delight was actually painted onto the varnished wood. It was breathtaking, and I traced a finger idly over the several areas I knew so well. The Hinterlands were to our east, and I moved over to where Haven had lay and then up into the Frostbacks to Skyhold itself. Emprise du Lion to the Emerald Graves, the Hissing Wastes to the Western Approach. Val Royeaux, Denerim, Minrathous, Halamshiral. All laid out before me, in the War Room of the Inquisition.

I wasn’t sure if my pounding heart was excitement or nerves.

With a sigh, I popped myself up onto the table and crossed my legs under me. There was no way of knowing how long I would be waiting nor how long we would be talking. I took in the rest of the room, the empty glass cabinets to the sides of the doors and the box of map markers by the windows. No doubt they would be placed over the next few days, but for now they rested to the side as the advisors gathered their reports and organized the mess that was the dislocated Inquisition.

Cullen was the first to arrive, quirking an eyebrow at my perch and then reddening madly when he took in my outfit, or lack thereof. I unsuccessfully attempted to hold in a snort of amusement. “Something funny?”

“The face thing? With your thing above your eye?” I frowned as I realized I didn’t know the word for ‘eyebrow’. Cullen caught my meaning though and supplied the word I was lacking. “Yes, eyebrow, thank you. I seem to get that reaction a lot.”

“It probably has something to do with the sheer absurdity you bring to any situation,” he supplied.

I was caught off guard. ‘Absurdity’? I hadn’t realized I was so ridiculous to him.

He recognized my expression. “Blast it, that’s not what I -” he brought his hand to the back of his neck in aggravation. “Not absurd, more . . . unexpected? Maker, I’m no good at this, am I,” he chuckled.

“No good at what, Commander? Making an ass of yourself?” Kirill walked into the room with Josephine and Leliana in tow. “I’m afraid you are quite accomplished in that already.”

“Maker’s breath, I call you a liar _one time_ -” 

“Boys, please. Let us not argue in front of the guest,” Leliana smirked.

“I am hardly a guest anymore, Leliana,” I protested.

“No, you are much closer to a foreign diplomat.” 

“What?”

“One of Leliana’s ravens returned from Val Royeaux today with a letter from Archon Radonis. He has appointed you, Miss Calliope Danarius, as his official liaison to the Inquisition,” Josephine said stiffly.

_Calliope Danarius._ I thought I’d left her behind. I _wanted_ to leave her behind, never speak of her, never acknowledge her, pretend that what happened in Tevinter was a bad dream. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think past that damned name, wanted to do nothing but scream my denial to the stars. I hadn’t even mentioned the name since leaving Tevinter; how had Josephine known to connect Calliope with me?

“Ila?” Kirill asked softly. “What is she talking about?”

“I -” to my horror, my voice broke, and I could feel myself beginning to tremble from head to toe. _I will not be her again,_ I swore to myself. _She died with her uncle. I am Ilaria Zavetnya._ I took a deep breath to steady myself.

“When I first came here, I was met by Danarius. He took me and gave me these -” I flared my tattoos, watching the sudden light cast shadows across the room before letting them fade again. “I . . . it was pain more than can be said. I do not know if the pain was what took my memories, if the pain was so much I forced myself to forget, or if there was some other magic involved, but when I woke I knew nothing of myself. I did not have a name, or a home, or a family, except for this man who said he was my cousin and offered to take me in. He trained me to be his heir, told me I was a distant cousin, had me tutored in Common, and taught me how to use my lyrium.

“His name was Danarius. After some months, he declared that I would meet the Archon, and at the gala where we were introduced, a man and possibly more attacked the manse outside of Val Dorma and killed Danarius. In the chaos I . . . my memories came back, and I knew who Danarius was and what he could do and knew that Dorian would help me, so I escaped with him. Calliope is not who I am,” I spat. “I will not be her again. I am not loyal to Tevinter, I care nothing for it’s Archon, and I would rather die than be associated with Danarius for the rest of my life.”

I hunched forward and braced my fists on the table and refused to meet anyone’s gaze. I never wanted for what happened in Tevinter to affect what happened here. I had never heard of Tevinter appointing a liaison to the Inquisition, and I prayed that this wouldn’t cause problems in the future.

But first I wanted to know that I still _had_ a future here.

“How did Radonis know you were with us?” Leliana asked flatly.

My blood ran cold. “I do not know. I have had no contact with anyone outside of the Inquisition since we have arrived, and no one besides Dorian since leaving the Imperium. He should not even know I am alive,” I stated miserably. Everything that had been going so well felt like it was flying apart.

Kirill pinched the bridge of his nose. “And you never thought to mention that you had political ties to the Imperium?” 

“I do not! Danarius _died,_ I thought I was leaving it behind! Why would the Archon do this?”

“Perhaps to keep a hold of you? A lyrium warrior is valuable, for more than one reason. If you are indebted to him, that might be worth allowing you to keep the title and hold position with us. Is there any other reason you can think that he would wish keep you in his debt?”

I hesitated. I didn’t know truly what Danarius had thought he was going to get out of me, much less how or why he thought he would gain anything from me at all, but I knew there was more to the story. “He thought . . . I think he thought I would be a powerful mage. That since there is no Fade in my world, my connection would be stronger. But that is obviously not true, as Solas even said I have no connection to the Fade still. The lyrium made me more open to his control, but it might have permanently cut any connection I might have to the Fade.”

Stunned silence met that revelation. “You are not connected to the Fade?” Josephine gaped.

“But . . . you aren’t Tranquil!” Cullen’s shock was understandable, him having the most experience with Tranquil up to this point.

I threw up my hands. “I do not know how or why. I do not know how I got here, and I do not know what I can do to help. All I know is that you, Cullen, have a past of hell and headaches and bad dreams to fill your days, Leliana grew up with a woman so much like my mother that it made me want to cry and her faith makes anyone else’s look dull, Kirill’s family is not sane and Josephine knows very well what a simple push can do to a person’s life.”

Jaws fell around me, but I wasn’t done. “The Iron Bull is afraid of demons. Cassandra has been touched by a Spirit of Faith. Blackwall is a carpenter, Varric lied about Hawke, Sera’s mother was a bitch, and Cole was at White Spire. Dorian hates blood magic, Vivienne is scared of Templars, and Solas hates tea. There is a high dragon in the Hinterlands, the Storm Coast, the Hissing Wastes, three in Emprise du Lion, there are five possible outcomes to the Orlesian civil war, two pitched battles against Corypheus, and by the end of this he will not have been the only ‘god’ you will have met.

“I know all of this and far more. And I swear, I will _never_ give up what I know to anyone outside of the Inquisition, and I will give you every aid I can if I can just leave Calliope behind.”


	16. Sorting The Puzzle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negotiations are had and no day is complete without a sense of furious betrayal, right?

I had pushed myself back off of the table and was standing stiffly before the rest of them, trembling slightly as my hands clenched and relaxed at my sides, eyes to the ground. I didn’t know why the Archon wanted me, someone he’d only met once and whom he had to know was not even Tevene to represent him in the Inquisition? And how the hell did he even know I was here?

“Ila.” Kirill’s soothing voice moved closer to me. “Ila. Look at me.” When I resisted, there was a tentative touch at my cheek that I flinched away from before slowly raising my eyes to meet his compassionate copper gaze. “Ilaria Zavetnya. When was the last time you brushed your hair?”

The question was so unexpected I snorted a helpless giggle. “I do not remember?”

“Bathed?”

“A month ago?”

“Slept in a bed?” 

“Two months ago.”

He was nodding slowly to himself. “Do you have any other clothes than what Leliana and Josephine found for you after Haven was lost?” I shook my head. “And no family that you know of here?” Another shake. I could see the others exchanging glances in my peripherals but I was too focused on Kirill to analyze their expressions. Despite everything, all I saw in his bright copper eyes was compassion. “If you could not stay here, where would you go?” My heart shattered in my chest, and he quickly amended the statement. “I’m not saying you can’t, not at all, I am simply curious as to what you _would_ do.”

“I . . . Is Alistair king?” I asked, looking past Kirill’s shoulder to Leliana.

“No. He remained with the Wardens after the Blight.” 

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit. There were a billion implications of that that I did _not_ want to contemplate right now. I threw that thought to the back of my mind. “And . . . Aveline?”

“She was in Kirkwall, last I heard,” Cullen answered. “They asked her to serve as Guard-Captain.”

“If . . . if I could not stay here, I would go to her. Or, wait, Fenris might visit, so maybe . . . Fergus Cousland? Go to Highever?” I frowned. “I have lyrium. I can train to fight, can learn to be a warrior or a scout.”

“Fergus Cousland? Aeden’s brother?” Leliana’s interest was obvious, but her question only confused me. 

“Yes? But . . . how do you know Aeden? I thought you said you knew Sereda Aeducan? Was she not the Hero of Ferelden?”

“She was, but Aeden found us on road to Redcliffe and joined us in our efforts against the Blight. Last I heard, he and Zev were terrorizing Antiva together.”

My mouth had dropped open in shock. The other Origins _never_ survived if they weren’t the Hero. At least, not in the game. The prospect of existing in the same world as Sereda Aeducan _and_ Aeden Cousland was simply astonishing. I completely forgot anyone else was even in the room as I zeroed in on Leliana. “He lived? How did he survive Howe’s attack? Does his brother know where he is? Did he and Sereda get along? What was it like travelling with both of them?”

Leliana grinned at me. “Yes, by running, yes, well, and incredibly interesting. Especially once we picked up Zevran, Theron, Wynne, Neria, and Shale. There was never a dull moment.”

I actually had to sit down. Or I would have, if there were any chairs. Instead I braced myself with a hand to Kirill’s chest and another on the table. “Theron _Mahariel_. Neria _Surana,_ ” I whispered, eyes closing. “They all lived?”

“Yes?” Leliana’s confusion. “You did not know this?”

I shook my head. “In the story I knew, the Warden could have been any of those four or even some others. A city elf, Tabris, from Denerim; a dwarf commoner named Brosca, a mage named Amell -”

“ _Solona_ Amell?” Cullen interjected, his face lined with grief that told me instantly that she hadn’t made it. I nodded mutely. “She could have been the Hero of Ferelden?” I hated the way his voice caught, and I nodded again. “Maker,” he whispered, face stricken. I ached for him.

“Are you saying you know all of these people? Companions to Sereda Aeducan, Hero of the Fifth Blight?” Josephine asked, quill scritching away madly. 

“Not _know_ know them, I know _of_ them, and I know where they come from. I cannot believe so many _lived_ ,” I breathed. I wanted to spend the next eternity asking Leliana everything i could about the wildly different experience she must have had during the Blight from what I knew. “I could go to them, get them to shelter me, train me so that I can fight -”

“And how would you get there? Do you have any funds? Anything besides your feet? Can you hunt, fish? Do you know how to barter with merchants, how to tell the difference between a merchant and a bandit in disguise? Who would you travel with? What precautions should you take for your own safety? Who do you go to if you’re sick? If you’re injured? If you’ve been robbed?”

I could feel myself wilting. “I do not know,” I whispered. I felt like a baby; Calliope had never left the manse, and Ila had never functioned alone on her own. Not in a world like Thedas, anyway. Dorian had taken care of our travel arrangements; I’d essentially been along for the ride.

“You have no experience, Ila. You wanted to come explore Skyhold before it’d been swept by scouts, for fuck’s sake. You’d die in an hour out there alone. All you’ve got,” he tapped me on the forehead, right on the diadem of lyrium across my forehead, and it was all I could do not to crumple in pain. “Is what’s in your head. And from what I’ve just heard, what’s in your head could do as much for us politically simply from what you know of famous individuals as you can do for me with what you claim to know of the future.”

I hadn’t ever thought of that. I was, essentially, the unknown best friend of several of the most influential people in recent history. Josephine was nodding enthusiastically across the table. “Then . . . I can stay?”

Kirill laughed. “That was never the debate here, my dear. The question of today has not been ‘can she stay,’ but rather ‘what can we do to keep her?’ A question that is only the more pertinent the more we learn of what you know. So, Ilaria, if you would be so kind as to tell us what we can do for you?” When I said nothing, just stared at him, he grinned and waved at Josephine. “Lady Montilyet, if you would be so kind as to take this down?

“Our resident liaison will need a room for herself. New clothes, and if we can include Vivienne in that I think it would not be amiss. A set of her own bathing items, a brush, towels and soap, any other products you think necessary,” he pinked adorably at that, and Cullen awkwardly cleared his throat while us ladies all rolled our eyes and exchanged amused glances at his not-so-subtle allusion to periods. “Bedding? Do you prefer heavy or light blankets? Perhaps both, seeing as we are in the mountains after all. New boots, at least two pairs, and if she’s going to be training she’ll need new armor. Leather?”

I nodded dumbly, dazed at how quickly things were happening around me. As much as I wanted to protest, I felt I was in no position to argue with the Inquisitor. “Wait, training?”

“You wanted to train, didn’t you? You’ve mentioned it several times. Bow? As an archer? Leliana wants to work with you so she can keep an eye on you, and she can train you as a scout. Or I’m sure Cullen can get you in for training with his soldiers if you’d rather learn sword and shield, or I can get you in with Bull and I on two-handed.”

I’d gone from being a potential ally to a near-friend to a suspected spy to a beggar at the door and now I was apparently being adopted. I felt like my brain had been left wrapped up in my tunic in the courtyard, and I knew I was staring but I couldn’t seem to get my body to respond.

Leliana spoke up. “Archery will be best, since it is what she has the most experience with, but I think learning her way around a sword would not be amiss. I can also teach her hand-to-hand, and if she is to act as a liaison with the Imperium, Josie will need to have regular time with her as well.”

“Wait, no, I cannot do that. I cannot be the liaison, Kirill, please do not make me be _her_ again,” I begged.

He glanced at the women. “Is there a way around this? Perhaps Dorian -”

“Dorian is in disgrace. The Archon would never give a position like this to someone who is held as a pariah by his peers. Calliope, while not well known, is associated with a man of power and favor with the Archon. It will be surprising but not untoward for her to be assigned so, especially if he wants to keep you in his political pocket in Tevinter despite your disappearance. This is a way to explain that without raising suspicion,” Josephine rattled off immediately. I groaned.

“Does anyone besides us know who Calliope is?” Cullen asked.

“How did _you_ know I was Calliope?” I responded. “I told no one.”

“I asked Messere Pavus if he recognized the name and he explained that it was you, but also not you,” Josephine explained. “And no, I do not believe anyone outside of us and Dorian know. Why?”

“Because she does not have to be Calliope if no one knows who Calliope is,” Leliana breathed. “Yes, that could work. ‘Calliope Danarius’ can be our liaison; Ilaria Zavetnya is a member of the Inquisition. She does not even necessarily have to _do_ anything as Calliope; all correspondence can be handled by Josie or my people. Calliope will be a recluse, taking meals in her room, perhaps invent some sort of sickness or disfigurement that keeps her from wishing to be in the public eye?”

I glanced at the intricate and seemingly delicate lines of blue that traced along every inch of my visible skin. “That is hardly far from the truth.”

“You are hardly what I’d call ‘disfigured’, my lady. Quite the opposite, in fact.” His face instantly reddened. “Not that I - no, I mean - gah, please, just forget I said anything.” And there went the hand to the back of his neck. So perfectly Cullen.

“I do not think I want to,” I giggled. Cullen Rutherford had just given me a compliment while I was half-naked and in the middle of one of the most stressful meetings of my life. Worth it?

Hell yes.

We grinned at each other across the table until Kirill cleared his throat, breaking the moment. “If we’re going to keep quiet the fact that she’s Calliope, I think it best to also keep the fact that she’s literally been through this before as quiet as possible. We’ve kept it inside the Inner Circle so far, and I’d like it to stay that way. You don’t need any more targets on your back, and if no one knows we have a Sybil then no one will come looking for one.”

“What is ‘Sybil’?”

“A person who knows what is to come. Like a seer.” Leliana supplied.

“Oh. Why not call me a seer then?”

“Are you Rivaini?”

“No?”

“Then it is far better not to claim that title. They are very particular about their seers.”

“For this to work, you are going to have to control yourself. In public, there can be no hint _whatsoever_ that you anything more than anyone else. If you do not know something considered common knowledge, you will come to one of the Inner Circle and ask for private assistance. Only in this room will you _ever_ speak of what is to come or what you know of what has happened in the past. Do you understand?” Kirill said sternly. Then his face softened. “This will help us keep you - and everyone else - as safe as possible.”

I nodded my understanding. “It will be like playing a part,” I whispered. That was something I knew how to do; I could play any part, be any character. I could be me, just without the wealth of knowledge I held normally. “I can do this,” I said more boldly. 

Kirill nodded decisively. “Then we are agreed?” The others nodded. “Then we will speak more later. For now, there is a keep to renovate.”

 

I left the war room in a daze, wandering down the main steps and then up onto the battlements above the as-yet-unnamed Herald’s Rest and settling myself on the wall with my legs dangling out over the walls, swinging idly. I had too much to think about as it was; I had a part to play now, and I needed to get my head into my ‘character’. No more slips, no random outbursts, nothing that a sheltered woman wouldn’t know. I could still be excited to meet Hawke, as Hawke was famous, and my being seen with other members of the Inner Circle could be explained by my being _in_ the Inner Circle, but I definitely needed to refine how I was going to interact with anyone else in the Inquisition.

It would be a bit of a balancing act. I would be hiding a large part of myself for an unknown period of time; I didn’t want this to be anything like ‘Calliope’, where I’d forgotten myself; I just needed to excise certain information from the forefront of my brain. Save the files to backup hard drive and erase them from the desktop. I promptly did an exasperated facepalm; was that really the best way to describe my brain process? Ugh, who cared. No one here would care or understand anyway.

My thoughts were interrupted by Dorian plopping down beside where I’d sat myself on the wall. “And how did your meeting with the Advisors go?”

“Horrible. And good. And mostly very stressful. Did you know the Archon knows I am here? Apparently I am the Imperium’s ‘liaison to the Inquisition’. Only, the position is for _Calliope_ ,” I spat.

“Really? Do I owe you congratulations or an apology?” he asked offhandedly as he rifled through his small pack. I vaguely recognized it as the one he’d insisted as holding onto during our flight to Haven, but that wasn’t what caught my attention.

“Dorian? What is that?” I reached for the pack, only for him to snatch it away. When I looked up in surprise, I was shocked to see his face a mask of shame. “Dorian? Dorian, what . . . _what is in the pack, Dorian?”_

“Now, Ila, you have to know I didn’t mean for this to be -”

I didn’t let him finish. A seed of horrible suspicion was growing in my mind, and I felt hot with anger and before he could move I was bursting with light and reaching _through_ the pack, pulling out the first handful of items I felt. 

A familiar leather notebook. A necklace with a crystal pendant. 

And an ipod touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I don't know how many of you guys are over on tumblr, but for those of you who are the reason I haven't been around much lately is because REAL LIFE IS EXHAUSTING and I got three new roommates and things are surprisingly good just. Tiring. Very Tiring. My chronic fatigue has been kicking all sorts of butt for me but other than that I'm actually doing really really well AND my job has a week of shutdown her in the beginning of September during which time ALL I WANT TO DO IS WRITE I AM SO EXCITED so second week of September keep a special eye on Lyrium's Boon ^.^


	17. What the Hap is Fuckening?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angry outbursts and a minor intervention. Also, Leliana and Varric are peas in a pod when they're on the same side and no one will convince me otherwise XD

“Explain.”

Dorian sat frozen, mouth open and staring at me in mild terror. “Ila, I swear I didn’t mean -”

 _”Explain,”_ I growled in English. Dorian . . . had _lied._ Ok, well, maybe he hadn’t lied, but he definitely hadn’t seen fit to tell me he had Danarius’ journal or my ipod. A small part of me whispered that he almost certainly didn’t know or understand what the ipod was; the larger part of me was screaming _Betrayal!_. Why did he have that journal? How had he gotten it? All I knew was in it was what Mae had read to me back in Val Dorma, and the details were sketchy at best. It mentioned the implantation process, and . . . it had mentioned that I was from another world.

Did it say how I had come to be here? Did it say how Danarius had found me? Every mystery, every question about why Danarius had seemed to want me specifically and what my purpose was supposed to be in Thedas could potentially be answered by what was written in this book. Had Dorian read it? And if he had, why hadn’t he said anything to me? He knew how confused and lost I felt being here.

Dorian was still staring at me, hands moving vaguely as he tried to find the words to appease me. I was hardly aware of the way I had begun to glow faintly, and I clutched my ipod to my breast as tightly as I could, keeping my other hand wrapped on the binding of the journal and letting the crystal dangle on its chain. Wait, a crystal necklace? Didn’t he - _”Is this a communication crystal?”_ I gasped. His face was all the confirmation I needed. _”Who the hell are you talking to?”_ My scattered mind made another connection. _”You! You were the one who told Radonis I was here! Dorian, you fucking - ! Did it ever occur to you that I don’t_ want _him to know where I am? That maybe I don’t_ want _to constantly be reminded of what happened in Tevinter? Because it wasn’t fucking fun, Dorian, and all I wanted was to leave that fucking mess behind!”_  
  
I was screaming at him now, and I could see out of the corner of my eye that those in the courtyard were stopping to look up at the raving, glowing woman on the walls.

“Ila, please, I didn’t tell the Archon anything, I swear! The crystal is linked to Mae, she’s the one who must’ve -”

 _”What the fuck does_ she _want with me?_ ” I snarled. _”She cornered me, essentially threatened me, and then abandoned me to face Fenris. She wanted to ruin Danarius? Fine. By all means. God knows I hated the man, but he’s gone now and she can leave me the fuck alone. And if you’re helping her, you’d better have a damn good reason because . . . because I_ trusted _you, Dorian! And you’ve_ lied _to me!”_ I backed away from him; my first instinct when faced with betrayal being, as always, to run. 

“Ila, it’s not like that, I swear, if you’ll just let me -” he stepped towards me, reaching out as if to grasp my shoulder or grab for the items in my hand. I shouted “No!” and before he could stop me, I was running, and for once I hardly cared where I was going. Skyhold was the epitome of safety, and while I had no desire to leave, I knew better than to be around people right now. The last time I’d been this upset around people . . .

Well, it hadn’t ended well for anyone.

I let my feet carry me until I was running down stairs and up stairs and through more hallways than I ever remembered until I ended up in a room that seemed vaguely familiar. _The lower ballroom,_ I realized. _The downstairs library. Perfect._ Secluded, quiet, and about as far out of the way from where the majority of the people had been settled so far that I shouldn’t have to worry about anyone stumbling across me for a good long while.

I practically fell into the large chair in the small library; more of a reading nook, honestly. I stood up coughing a moment later when my fall caused an eruption of dust that reminded me that no one had been down here in centuries, most like. I whacked the rest of the dust from the remarkably well-preserved chair as best I could and then pulled the chair around to the other side of the room to let the dust settle.

The room seemed to be getting much darker as I finished, and I realized with a start that I’d been glowing strongly the whole time. As I calmed down, however, the lyrium also calmed, and I was belatedly faced with the fact that I’d neglected to being a lantern or light of any kind with me into the still-abandoned region of Skyhold. With a sigh, I concentrated on lighting my tattoos, something that disappointingly took much more effort when I had to think about it.

I had released my death grip on the items I’d taken from Dorian and set them on the large wooden desk while I fixed the chair, but now I turned and considered them seriously. I wanted to break the crystal in pieces, and despite how much I’d loved her, I wouldn’t have minded being able to reach through and do the same to Mae. What was her game? And what use could I possibly be to her from all the way across Thedas?

The journal I didn’t want to consider. Not right now. That was something I didn’t want to face without a bottle of wine or ten and a good healthy dose of skepticism. But the ipod . . .

I gingerly picked up my ipod, cradling it now. I flipped it over in my hands, lightly tracing the edge of the protective case and taking the time to stare at the collection of Eeveelutions on the back; the juxtaposition of Pokemon and the everything around me was a bit of a mind trip, but it would hardly matter to me if -

 _Yes!_ I nearly started crying when the screen lit, waiting eagerly for my lock screen to load and then promptly laughing my ass off when I realized that I’d saved a screenshot of Cullen as my background. Now, _there_ was a comparison I was happy to make, and the reality of the man was _much_ more than any game could ever hope to live up to. If I ever made it back . . .

 _If I ever made it back_. Something that hadn’t crossed my mind until then. I thought about home fairly often, I realized, but very rarely did I think in terms of actually making it back. No matter what had brought me here, be it drugs or an accident or even some powerful magic, I’d practically taken it for granted that I was here for good. If I was somehow to make it home, though . . .

I would not be the same. 

If I was drugged, and I somehow woke up back on Earth to realize this was all a dream, it would probably be the second greatest shock of my life, right after getting my memories back to realize I was in Thedas in the first place. It would be the most remarkable (and in some ways, the most remarkably fucked up) dream I’d ever had, but I could tell Delu and Jaime and Taylor and it would certainly make one heck of a story. And if this was because of an accident, then I definitely preferred this to the nightmares I’d endured after the crash. I’d wake much the same as drugged; confused, disoriented, and with a story to comfort myself with through recovery. If this was truly some magic, though . . .

Going home would be almost torture. I’d be returning with lyrium tattoos (whether or not they would actually react on Earth, where, so far as I knew, we didn’t have magic) covering every inch of me. A lock hair under my ear was white, and as yet didn’t seem to show any indication of returning to my normal dark brown. If I went back, I would have no way to explain the tattoos, the hair, the sudden second language. Or not-so-sudden?

I was tallying weeks when the sound of footsteps caused me to dim my tattoos. I didn’t want to be around people -

“Ila. I know you’re down there. I brought wine and snacks and blankets and friends, and we’re not leaving until everything is sorted.”

The warm glow of a lantern shone down the book-lined hall, and Kirill, Leliana, and Varric all came into view and settled down before I could utter a word of protest. “How did you find me?”

“Call it a hunch. What were you thinking so hard about as we came in?” asked Kirill.

“Time. I have been here almost a year, I think, and I was thinking of if I was to go home, would the same time have passed? Have I been gone for so long? What do my friends, my family think of my . . . suddenly being gone?” 

The three on the floor in front of me exchanged glances, but offered no answers. “Tell me about your family,” Kirill finally said. “You have - _had_ , sorry,” he shot me an abashed look, “five older brothers?”

I curled my feet up under me in the chair and resigned myself to their company. At least they seemed content to steer clear of any mention of Danarius; solid option, in my opinion. “Yes. Tyler and Taylor, they are the oldest; twins. They are six years older than I am. Then there is Brandon, he is three years older than I am, and Zachary, who is two years older. They are all rather insane, but I did not mind. They are family, and they love me and I love them.”

“What happened to the fifth brother?” asked Varric. Kirill shot me a concerned look, but I waved him off. 

“Michael. There was an accident. We were both in the . . . carriage. He . . . he died, almost the moment of the accident. I was hurt, very hurt, and I slept for several weeks after. I did not know he was dead until Beatrice came to visit, a week after I woke up,” I shuddered. “I hate that woman. Honest, I do.”

“Is that where you got that scar?” Leliana inquired.

“This one?” I pointed to me left brow, where a scar cut a line through my eyebrow and over my cheek. She nodded. “Yes. And these -” I was still in my rolled up breeches and makeshift wrap, and I carefully pulled the breeches down over my left hip to show the deep and gnarled scar that disappeared further down my leg, then pulling up the pant leg to show where the scar ended at my knee. “Two years of . . . _rehabilitation and physical therapy,_ ” I said in English. “Training to remember how to use my leg again.”

“Maker,” Kirill whispered. “We see injuries, scars like that here, but . . . if you hadn’t shown us, we’d never have known there was an injury. You don’t move like it at all, no limp, no favoring that leg . . . Those who survive wounds like that here do so only with the aid of magic, and such healing doesn’t leave much in the way of scars.” He was absently rubbing one arm as he said that, and I wondered what sort of wound he was remembering.

Leliana and Varric were both nodding in agreement. “I’ve only seen scars like that on cripples. Cripples and Qunari, with their thick skin they can take harder hits without dying. Drove Hawke to distraction trying to get a good hit on the Arishok when blades need more oomph than a rogue can give easily.”

I leaned forward eagerly at that. “Hawke was a rogue?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know? I thought you knew everything.”

I shook my head. “I know what Hawke faced, and I know what decisions _I_ made as Hawke, but I do not know what Hawke is truly like here. And reading is still hard.” I made a face, then gasped in delight when I remembered my ipod. Ignoring the looks of shock, I whipped it back out and unlocked it, flipping across my screens until I found my books. 

_My books._ Oh, thank God, thank the Maker, thank anyone in the universe because I could _read._ Really read, not flounder through a page an hour like I still did with Common. I was giggling madly with delight when I looked up into the flabbergasted faces of the three in front of me. “What?” I laughed.

“What in the Maker’s name is _that?!”_ demanded Leliana. “And did I see . . . Cullen? How did you get a painting of him onto that, that . . . _thing?_ ”

“This is an _ipod_ ,” I said. “It is made to keep music, like a music box, but can hold many more songs. Hundreds. And it can take pictures, like a painting, but much quicker, and can also hold books and games and -”

“That tiny thing can do all that? What kind of mage can craft something like that?” Kirill gasped. 

I couldn’t help it; I laughed until I couldn’t breathe. I laughed so hard I fell out of the chair. “It is not _magic_ ,” I finally choked out, knowing they probably wouldn’t believe me. “It is a _machine_. Something built using metals, and, uh . . . lightning, I guess, but much smaller lightning? We do not have magic, so we learn to do things without magic. And since we do not have magic, we are always working to improve the machines we have, until we can make them almost as complicated a person and they can almost think for themselves. It is fascinating, truly.”

Three sets of eyes stared at me. “Were these things _common?_ ” Leliana sputtered.

I nodded. “Everyone had them. And ipods are relatively old now, not used. I had one because I needed to store thousands of songs without taking up room in my newer machine, my _phone_.”

 _”Thousands_ of songs?”

I grinned, and swiped through to my music and hit _play_ , letting Alessia Cara’s Wild Things fill the air around my three flabbergasted friends. I let a few more songs play through in the stunned silence before I turned it off; _No charger,_ I thought reluctantly. _Can’t do that very often if I want it to last any length of time before it becomes an expensive tin can._ I was just lucky I’d charged it the morning before I’d left. “I wish I could show you more, but it will not last long, unfortunately.”

Varric looked like a cat that just ate the canary, Leliana was staring into space probably having a long and very interesting debate with the Maker while Kirill . . .

Kirill almost seemed to be reading my mind. 

“So, lass. What happened besides our meeting today that sent you hiding down here?” he drawled.

“You didn’t hear the commotion outside this afternoon?” Varric chuckled. “I haven’t seen anything so entertaining since Hawke pinched Fenris’ ass on his way out of the Hanged Man. What exactly did Dorian do to piss you off?”

I glanced at Leliana and Kirill. I was still pissed, still upset beyond belief at the man, but I didn’t necessarily want him to be murdered by Leliana for spilling information to Tevinter, no matter how I knew he probably wasn’t spying and was mostly just . . . talking to a friend.

A very meddlesome friend. Practically a sociopath, from what I'd seen. 

With my number, apparently. Or the closest thing to it that existed in Thedas. Ah, irony.

“He hid my ipod. He said he found it in Danarius’ manse, and did not know what it was, and then hid it with Danarius’ journal.” I noted how Leliana perked at the mention of the journal and I waved to the desk. “It is over there. Feel free to read it, because I do not really wish to. If you will tell me anything he says about me that you think I might not know, that would be wonderful.”

She lunged for the little book, fingers barely grabbing it before Varric did. “Hey! Very funny, reach over the dwarf, haha Nightingale. Do I at least get a shot at it when you’re busy?”

Leliana waved it in front of him mockingly. “Only if you ask nicely.”

Kirill was eyeing me warily. “Why don’t you want it?”

“Because . . . because I am tired of trying to find answers for questions I do not even know how to ask. I am tired of being pulled between my world and Tevinter and the Inquisition. I do not think Danarius knew how I came to be here, and I do not think he knew how I could go back.” I struggled to find the words for what I was feeling. “I think, for now, I just want to . . . I just want to be Ila, for a little while. I want to find out who Ila is _here._ I want to stay, and train, and be part of what is happening and keep you all from falling apart and I want to feel like I _belong_.” 

The tears that had somehow remained at bay throughout the day, through the meeting in the war room and my confrontation with Dorian, began to fall. “I do not think I will be able to _be_ one of you, one of the Inquisition, and I want that so badly it almost burns. I just want to be useful, and not feel like the _freak from outer space,”_ I finished. I knew they wouldn’t understand the last, but they got the gist.

“You begin training with me tomorrow,” Leliana assured me. “And I can have my people begin to work on assimilating you properly. You do very well, no doubt due to your time with Danarius, but there is much we can do to help. You’ll pass for a true Thedosian before you know it.”

Varric nudged her with an elbow. “And while the Nightingale here teaches you how to kill people with your pinkie, I’ll teach you how to relax. Cabot’s got that tavern almost ready to go, I’ll take you in and introduce you to proper Marcher vintages. Let Bull and I get you proper drunk while we wait for Hawke.”

“You’re going to want to hide before Hawke gets here. Cassandra is going to eat your liver when she finds out what you’ve done,” Leliana smirked. Because _of course_ she knew.

“Can I meet Hawke? Is it Garrett or Marian?” I asked eagerly. 

Leliana opened her mouth to answer but was cut off by Varric. “You’ll just have to wait and see, Lightning. Can’t let her spoil one of few surprises in your life.”

“I would hardly call that ‘spoiling’, Varric,” she protested.

Kirill rolled his eyes with a smile. “Play nicely, children. And if you’re feeling better, Ila, I need a hand moving some stuff in my room. Care to lend a hand?”

“Upstairs?”

“The very top.”

“Yes, _please!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this is so late, if you follow my tumblr you might have seen that my wifi decided to be a little bitch this week and I am currently posting this while at work because I finally had a day where I could bring my laptop (nannying, late night tonight so I get lots of quiet free time after the kids are asleep ^.^ ) and got this up for you guys. Also will be posting a drabble or two over on Lyrium's Boon, one of which is slightly spoilery so #beware (nothing serious, just takes place a little bit ahead. Prompt was for an interaction between Kirill and Harding and it's set in Crestwood).
> 
> Also, at one point tonight an eight-year old decided to add as many "+"'s to this as he could, so if you see one can you please point it out to me? I think I got them all but I'm not sure XD
> 
> Also also (last thing, promise) remember when I said at the beginning that there would be lots of chapters where not much happened? We're pretty much at the end of that. Lots of things start happening fairly quickly from here on, so buckle up Peeps. You're in for a wild ride ^.^


	18. A Ritual of Baths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ila begins to fully transition into Inquisition life and runs into some problems with combat training.

Kirill’s rooms were fully furnished despite our only being there a week, including, to my ridiculous delight, a bath. He laughed at my obvious longing and shoo’d me into the bathing room before I could think to protest. Not that I would have; the tub was already full, and the water was _steaming._ He showed me where the soaps and scents were, producing a brush seemingly from nothing that looked strong enough to survive even my thick, curly hair. Ugh, my hair that had not been properly washed in far too long. I’d see what was salvageable and then decide if I should cut it . . .

Shoving Kirill from the room, I stripped and sank happily into the scalding water, soaking for a few minutes before pulling my wrap and my pants in with me and grabbing the soap, thanking God for unexpected benefits to a that month challenge Marceline and I had done in college, where we had to live with absolutely no ‘luxury’ purchases. I could clean what clothes I had with me in a bath, no problem.

Kirill came striding back into the bathing room just as I was becoming fully embroiled in the battle with my willful curls. He had a towel draped over one arm and what seemed to be a pile of new clothes on the other. “I had no idea your hair was that long!” he exclaimed. “Your braided bun didn’t look that big.”

“It looks bigger because of the curls,” I winced as I tried to unravel a particularly stubborn tangle. “And I am very good at keeping my buns tight.” 

Kirill fought to keep a laugh contained. “What is so funny?”

“Tight buns,” he whispered before letting out a deceptively high-pitched giggle, and I grinned to realize the euphemism was much the same in Common as it was back home and was delighted at Kirill’s reaction. Oh, was he in for some fun if he ever got me drunk . . .

I threw a handful of water at him, cackling as he stumbled out of the way. With a sigh of relief, I pulled the brush through my de-tangled hair and promptly threw the brush at him before climbing out of the tub and grabbing the towel from his arm. Kirill, thank God, did not seem to share Dorian’s modesty standards. He’d also somehow procured another set of clothes, a shirt and breeches that fit so perfectly I had to ask where he got them so quickly. “You and Krem are almost the same size. He said you could borrow those as a spare set until Josephine wrangles you up a wardrobe,” he explained. “There’s a tailor coming in with a caravan from Val Royeaux next week. There’ll also be a group from the University of Orlais, a Ferelden delegation, and a never ending flood of Orlesians.”

“Cullen will be _thrilled_.”

“Cullen will survive. We need to gain as much diplomatic support as we can now so we have leverage to use it later, when this war comes to a head.” His face was torn for a moment before he sighed. “I need to ask you a favor.”

“Oh?”

“You said you know this story as the Herald. We have scouts ranging through Ferelden and the Frostbacks, and over the next few days we’ll send more into Orlais, but would you be willing to share what you remember of the locations of rifts? Narrowing their locations would greatly reduce the risk to our scouts and allow us to focus them on risk assessment.”

I grinned. “I can do even better.” I quickly told him all the areas that I knew from the game and once I was dressed, we were down in the war room with our heads bent over their respective maps. The map covering the table was gorgeous, but ultimately too nebulous; we focused, much like in the game, on smaller detailed maps.

Pulling out my ipod, I flipped to my pictures and opened up my video game folder. I was a self-identified RPG nut, and while I loved running around looking in all the little corners of a game, I did not enjoy doing so without knowing roughly what was already in the corners. I had every map from Dragon Age saved, with every single location labeled so I would never get completely lost. We drew up a key and soon enough I was making notations on all over the place and thoroughly enjoying pretending to be a cartographer.

I swatted Kirill’s hand away from my ipod at one point when I swiped to the next map. “I need that.”

“All you did was _touch_ it! If I touch it, will it do the same?” 

“Yes. But it only moves when skin touches it. It has to do with body heat, so a quill -” I dried the tip on my pant leg and tapped the screen - “does not do anything.”

“Fascinating.” 

I fought the urge to giggle at his choice of word as I marked off every rift in the Emerald Graves. I was only noting the rifts, quarries, and logging sites; the scouts would be responsible for the rest, and I had every faith in Harding’s abilities. Surely giving this information wouldn’t be a negative thing?

“Ok, Spock, here is Orlais done. Where are the maps for Ferelden?”

“In the chest over there, but it can wait. Have you eaten today? And who is ‘Spock’?”

I glanced out the windows, realizing with a start that night was rapidly descending. “No, not since we were working in the yard. Was that really this morning?”

He snorted, and I had to fight the urge to giggle again as his beard twitched. One of these days I was just going to reach out and tug on that beard, just to see what he did . . . “Yes. Do you want to eat in the hall? I know you and Dorian usually eat with Varric, but . . .”

I made a face. “I would rather not. I will talk to Dorian when I calm down, but if I speak with him now . . . I will say things I will regret.”

“We’ll eat with Josephine. She wants to pick your brain on the Imperium’s politics anyway.”

“Great. My favorite topic.”

Kirill rolled his eyes as he held the door open. “And who is Spock?”

 

 

Josephine, true to form, interrogated me through dinner and well afterwards about everything I could remember of Tevene politics. To my surprise, I actually remembered quite a bit more than I would have thought; I’d helped plan for Danarius’ gala, and several conversations debating who to invite and who not to invite gave Josephine much more scope into who was in favor at the moment, considering everything had been planned around the Archon’s favor. Several conversations with people I had hardly thought of were relayed as accurately as possible. By the time we were finished, she was madly scribbling notes.

Kirill escorted me to the little cubby of a room I’d claimed; I’d pulled all the random stools and desks from one of the tiny rooms off of the library and then stole a cot from the newly cleared out barracks. He laughed when we finally reached my room, and he saw that despite only being in the room for two days I’d somehow managed to find six blankets and three pillows to pile onto my cot. “We’ll get you a real bed soon,” he promised. “And a real room.”

The next morning set the routine for my days. Leliana pulled me from my bed as the ass-crack of dawn and set me to all manners of exercise; it reminded me of my first days training under Alberich in Tevinter. Testing, pushing, analyzing. She applauded my breath control, laughed outright at my running stamina, and I somehow managed to impress even Leliana with my knowledge of strengthening exercises.

In the end, we spent several hours simply talking exercise. I didn’t have a lot of technical words in Common, so we had to demonstrate back and forth quite a bit to show each other what we meant. I learned a lot about Leliana that morning; she had an almost inhuman level of focus, and I’m pretty sure she could keep track of more things in her head than I could. We seemed to be fairly well-matched training partners, other than my complete lack of fighting skill; I took all of her assessments without protest until she brought up hand-to-hand and set me off against a recruit named Elias to walk me through the basics of striking and blocking.

I only lasted five minutes.

“I am so sorry, I _have_ to stop,” I gasped, making it just two steps from where we’d stopped before I crumpled to the ground whimpering. Not having armor and warmed up by the exercise, we’d been sparring in minimal clothing, which meant most of the hits and blocks were happened.

“Are you all right? Was I not pulling the blows?” Elias’ concern was almost palpable.

“No, the lyrium - DO NOT TOUCH ME!” I shrieked as a hand on my shoulder aggravated my already inflamed body. It was pure agony; Fenris never seeming to take his armor off in-game suddenly seemed less of an animation choice and more of an act of pure self-preservation. It had started like a sunburn; uncomfortable, yet bearable, but with each successive strike the pain had only mounted and my skin became more and more sensitive until an unceasing fire raged under the skin of my whole body.

Voices came in and out of focus as I fought to control my breathing, sweat pouring off of me as I forced myself to my knees. I vaguely caught someone mentioning baths and was abruptly lifted into the air. I fought against my capturer until I realized the contact wasn’t as painful as the others had been; whoever had lifted me was encapsulated in cool armor, and while it didn’t soothe the burning, it didn’t aggravate it further.

My eyes screwed tight against the pain, I had no clue where I was being carried until I went airborne with a shout of surprise, landing in a pool of blessedly cool water.

The fire soothed instantly and I burst from the water with a sharp inhale and I opened my eyes to see none other than Cullen standing at the edge of what for all intents and purposes looked very much like an indoor swimming pool. 

“Are you alright?” he crouched beside the water.

“What is this place?” I ignored his question. An indoor pool! What the hell? _Please let this be real, and I will be in seventh heaven,_ I thought with delight.

Cullen’s mouth quirked in a barely concealed smile despite his concern. “Were you not just shrieking in pain?”

“Yeah, but _water,_ Cullen. I am a human fish. Where _are_ we?”

“I’m going to take your curiosity as a sign of improvement. Have you never seen a bathing hall?” I shook my head, taking a closer look at my surroundings. Now that he mentioned it, this looked very much like . . . I grinned to myself. It looked like a Roman bath, something I could only picture because of Assassin’s Creed. “Those rooms have varying degrees of cold or hot water to help you relax -” he nodded to the rooms lining the far wall, “and there’s a room to leave your clothes, and when you’re done in the bathing and steam rooms you can relax in the pool here.”

“How does the water stay clean?”

“Well,” Cullen lowered himself all the way to the floor. I wondered how much of a bitch his armor would be to get out of if he got it wet or, God forbid, fell in with it on. “We’re in the lowest level of the keep right now, and the water seems to come from some sort of well. Vivienne inspected the place rather thoroughly -” I snorted. Of course she did. “- and spoke of ancient runes that keep the water flowing through grates on either end. I daresay she was impressed by the baths.”

I nodded; I could feel the slight flow of the water pulling lightly at me. “Is there another room for women?”

Cullen went beet red. “Ah, well, you see - that is -” he stuttered, rubbing his neck with one hand in a moment that was so incredibly _Cullen_ I couldn’t help but laugh.

“So we share?” I offered helpfully. He nodded, looking anywhere but me. “Is this common in Thedas? The story did not speak often of bathing. Not at all, actually.” And since my bathing thus far had been limited to tubs in Tevinter and Kirill's personal quarters, I hardly felt capable of knowing what was and was not typical.

“Maker, no! I’ve heard of this sort of thing in Orlais, but I have never seen such accommodations in person before.” His scandalized tone made it clear what he thought of the arrangement. I giggled helplessly and he gave me a flat look. “I’m glad my discomfort amuses you.”

“I think you will find, Cullen, that I find many things amusing.” I took pity on his woebegone expression. “But I can try to control myself if it makes you not comfortable.” 

“No!” he assured me. “I grew up with siblings, I can handle a fair bit of teasing. Besides, I like it when you laugh.”

Wow, was my skin still burning or what? I ducked under the water to hide my blush, pushing off the wall and twisting through the water and allowing the pull of the water to further soothe the burning ache. The pool seemed to be deeper in the middle than the sides though at no point would the water go over my head if I stood. I popped back up and walked to the wall, pulling myself out with ease and taking the towel Cullen offered me. “Are you alright?”

“Better. I ache everywhere still, but the worst is over. I do not think I wish to learn hand to hand until I have armor of some kind.”

“We can head to the Undercroft to get your measurements now, if you wish. It’s just above us; the water from the baths actually flows right out into the waterfall.”

“Let us go!”

In no time at all, my measurements were done and Harritt was assuring us that the armor would be done within the week. Still dripping, as I’d taken my impromptu bath with my clothes on, Cullen and I entered the main hall on our way to my room to change my clothes when we were intercepted by Kirill.

“Ila, Elias told me what happened. Are you all right? Is there anything we can do?” I assured him I was fine and everything that could be done was being done. “Good. I need you to come and tell me about Crestwood.”

“Crestwood? Why Crestwood?”

“Because I’m leaving in the morning with Dorian, Sera, and Cassandra to find Hawke’s Grey Warden contact.”

I froze. “You met Hawke?”

“Yes?”

“When!”

“About an hour ago? We met while you were still training with Leliana, and you were gone when we came down.”

“Is Hawke still here?” I asked desperately.

The fucker grinned at me; he knew how badly I wanted to meet Hawke. “No, unfortunately. _Hawke_ left as soon as we were done talking.”

I let out a wail of frustration. “Will you at least tell me if it was Garrett or Marian? Varric has said _nothing,_ just because he knows it is making me mad!”

“I _could_ tell you I met Marian -” I gasped. “- or I _could_ tell you I met Garrett, _but_ I think I will agree with Varric and say you have to wait and find out for yourself.” He laughed when I chucked the towel at his face. “You’re adorable when you’re pissed, you know that?” he used the towel to ruffle my hair, curls flying every which way under his onslaught.

“Stop it!” I ducked away giggling. “You owe me, Kirill. You _know_ how badly I want to meet Hawke!”

Cullen snorted. “Why would you wish to meet Hawke so badly?” He seemed to be joining in the conspiracy to keep Hawke’s gender from me. “Hawke is insanity incarnate. I would never have believed Hawke killed the Arishok if I hadn’t seen it for myself.”

“You were there?!”

“Don’t remind me.” He pinched his brow, forehead scrunching in what most people would have thought was merely annoyance. I was not, however, most people.

“Cullen, do you have a headache?”

He looked for a moment as if he was going to protest, then thought better of it. “It started while we were in the baths,” he admitted. “It is getting worse quickly. I am afraid, Inquisitor, that I may have to seek out a healer and find someplace dark to try and rest.”

Kirill nodded. “Of course, Cullen. I need you healthy. Go and rest; I’ll tell Josephine to filter any non-urgent reports through Barris and Rylen.”

“Thank you, Inquisitor.” He gave us both a slight bow and left with careful steps.

“Headaches?” Kirill asked.

“Yep.”

“Normal thing for him?”

“Fairly.”

He sighed. “I’ll keep an eye out. War room?”

“I’ll change and meet you there.”

 

 

It wasn’t until the next morning, after profuse apologies from Elias (I assured him it wasn’t his fault and yes, I very much wanted to continue training with him) and a stern lecture from Dennet on the value of the Inquisition’s horses (which I had inadvertently spooked when I sneezed in the stable and lit the whole place blue for a flash) that the reality of what Kirill had said the day before hit me.

He was leaving.

“I have never been left behind from any of your missions,” I confessed. “I do not think I like it. Not at all.” 

Kirill grinned at me from atop his horse, a massive creature named Ilya, red armor flashing in the morning light and giving him the disconcerting illusion of being on fire, what with his red hair and beard to accentuate the look. “I’m sure you will survive. Train hard, train well, and perhaps I will take you with me sometime.”

“I . . . I think I would like that,” I realized. “Promise to stay safe?”

“Promise to stay out of trouble?”

“Never!” I laughed. 

“Spoken like a true agent. I’ll do my best.”

“Just do not take on the dragon without Bull or he will never forgive you.”

“I make no promises. Maker, I’d bloody love a good dragon fight; I might just have something to look forward to on this trip.” He laughed at the flat look I gave him.

“Just for that, I will not tell you about the rain. Safe travels, Inquisitor!” I slapped Ilya’s rump and the beast surged forward, taking off through the gates before Kirill had a chance to look back. The rest of the group was already across the bridge waiting, and I felt a pang of anxiety at the fact that Dorian was leaving and we hadn’t made up yet. _Let them be safe,_ I prayed. The stakes were so much higher now than they had been when this was just a game. _Let them come home swift and sound._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is coming a day late (two if you're in an earlier timezone) and I didn't post anything at all last week, but real life bit me in the butt and my boss got fired so a lot of the work he was supposed to be doing has been shuffled onto me and another guy I work with. I think I'm going to have to say for now that I will try to update regularly, but there will probably be some weeks that I skip here and there. I will try to never go more than two weeks between chapters, but real life has a way of interrupting even the best intentions :P


	19. Lightning Strikes Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ila starts organizing her life and has several interesting encounters with her fellow Inquisition members.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK!!!!!!!! Sorry it has been _so freaking long_ between updates, work, as ever, has been INSANE and I've got like three weeks of relative normalcy and then swim season starts so *panic*
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me though ^.^ and we're in one of those zones where Lots Happens Quickly so buckle up peeps!

Not having Kirill around gave me a significant amount of free time. Not that I didn’t love spending time with, quite the opposite in fact; I honestly didn’t know anyone I’d ever felt so comfortable to be around in my life. We were this effortless cohesion that just _worked._ I don’t know if it was because I understood his situation better than anyone or if we had formed some kind of morbid bond over our shared loss of our brothers, but I’d been running on the theme “Just go with it!” for roughly eight months now and didn’t see a reason to stop anytime soon.

Rather than mope over my guilt and anger about the Dorian situation and in an effort not to mentally replay all of Crestwood in my head out of boredom, I dedicated myself to making lists. 

It was something I’d started doing in college; between classes and rehearsals and swim practices, my brain must’ve resembled something like grey pudding. I couldn’t keep track of my laundry, let alone my homework. Thus Ila’s Infamous Lists was born. I had lists that kept track of everything from my swimsuits to my food and everything in between. It was absolutely the most calming thing I could do to keep from fretting over Kirill and Dorian, and it was something so incredibly _me_ that I felt almost . . . normal, so I went about my list-making with enthusiasm.

For the sake of my sanity, the lists I was making were definitely being written in English. I couldn’t even imagine trying to write in Common; the amount of mental fortitude that would require was beyond me. Anyway, what I was listing at the moment was not anything that anyone should probably be able to read on their own.

The first list I made was a list of every major decision from Inquisition. Then I listed all of the consequences of those decisions, and starred my preferences. Not for any particular reason, since I was obviously not in charge anymore, but basically just for sanity’s sake. 

Once that list was done, I listed out every potentially world-shattering piece of information, from the Wardens and their false Calling to the Temple of Mythal and even the location and life-state of Inquisitor Ameridan. Lastly, I went through every Companion and listed out information that they could use, starring the points that, as far as I could tell, would not have cause a glorious catastrophe if they were known before they’re natural unfolding. Once satisfied with my lists, I steeled myself for many awkward conversations and started working my way down the line. First stop: Vivienne.

Madame de Fer was found, as ever, on her loft above the main hall. Despite the fact that we’d only been here for a month or so, she had already made her space as elegant and refined as possible, and I had little doubt that she was planning on many improvements for the rest of the keep as well. She stood with her back to me, observing the templars training in the yard below with what I assumed would be a critical eye, and I cleared my throat to announce my arrival.

She did not acknowledge me.

_Crap._ I tried again. “Madame de Fer?” At that, she turned, casting her cool gaze over me and lifting one perfect eyebrow. As intimidating as she was in the game, Vivienne in person was about fifteen times scarier and I fought not to instictively step back. “I need to speak with you, please.”

“Whatever it is you want, my dear, you will be far better served seeking it elsewhere. You will find no help for your endeavors with me, though I do commend you your efforts. Few would willingly approach me without invitation.”

This time I did take a step back, so caught off guard by the ice in her words. “What?”

“No need to be coy. You’ve done admirably so far, working your way up the ranks. You were hardly here a week when you were already daily sought out by no less than the Herald himself, and now you train with the Left Hand and sit at the Ambassador’s side for meals.” Her eyes flashed. “Others may have become taken in with your talk of the future and tales of secrets, but I am not so gullible.”

I gaped at her. “Vivienne, I -” 

“Darling, you will address me as Madame de Fer or not at all. I have no interest in any conversation with you and I will kindly ask you to leave now. Do not make me ask again.” She turned back to the templars.

I stood frozen in spot. Vivienne was far too mired in the Game to realize that not everyone else was as well. Of course she would see me as a schemer, working my way to power, and no doubt I’d be endlessly frustrating to someone like her with the way I’d been immediately shuffled to the center of the Inquisition. I clenched a fist in frustration, accidentally scrunching my carefully written list. _I can leave,_ I thought angrily. _If she doesn’t want to listen to me, it’s her own fault anyway!_

With a sigh, I shoved those thoughts away. “The white . . . beast, that you seek, it is in the Exalted Plains. In Ghilan’nain’s Grove. I do not know if it is there yet, or if we can even reach it yet, but that is where it will be.” I saw her clench her hands on the rail before I turned and walked away.

Josephine was next on my list. She was much easier to convince of my well-meaning, already having spent so much time together, though this was the first time I’d openly offered anything to her of her future. I don’t think she quite believed me, but she did agree to keep an eye out, so I left her to her endless letter-writing and went in search of Blackwall.

I didn’t really know what to say to him, honestly. He’d been another who wanted nothing to do with me and my ‘insanity’, so up til now we hadn’t truly spoken. His attention out of anyone else’s was the easiest to claim, however.

“Thom.”

His gaze shot up from his carving to meet mine, eyes open wide. “How do you know that name?”

“That does not matter. Anyway, I am certain Cullen told you my tale. You may choose to believe it or not, but I have something to say to you regardless.” I crossed my arms and leaned against a post.

“Lady Josephine said - bah. Whatever you have to say, say it and be gone. I am not that man any longer.” His beard bristled and he planted himself, facing me with his hands clasped behind his back, and it occured to me that he was expecting me to berate him for his past.

Instead, I grinned. “No, you are not. You are Warden Blackwall. Thom Rainier died the same day the original Blackwall did, and you are no more that man than I am Leliana. I like you, Blackwall, because you are honorable and kind. And . . . what is the word, for someone who is funny but not always intentionally? Like wit, but more . . . deliberate? Ugh, I do not know what I am saying.”

“I believe you refer to ‘sarcasm’, my lady.”

“Yes! Sarcasm! Thank you!” I laughed a little at the wariness he regarded me with. “Oh, be calm, I do not bite. Anyway, that is not the only reason why I am here. I know your past, Blackwall, and right now I am the only one who does besides you. Correct?” He nodded. “Eventually, most likely months from now, there will be . . .” I frowned. Words were still _hard_. “Events, that make it necessary for you to tell others. Kirill _will_ find out.”

The change in Blackwall’s stance was heartbreaking. He slumped forward, bracing one hand on the table, and took a long shuddering breath. I stepped forward immediately, but he waved me off. “Don’t fret yourself over an old man, girl. Especially not this traitor,” he growled. 

“Blackwall is not a traitor.”

“I am not Blackwall.”

“Yes, you are,” I insisted. “You might not have been born Blackwall, but you have honored his memory and his name.” I stepped up next to him, resting a hand on his shoulder and blessing the thick padding of his tunic. “This does not have to be a bad thing, Blackwall. I said that Kirill will find out, but I did not say he would punish you.” When he went to protest, I raised a hand. “I did not say he would _not_ punish you, either. Do not give up on who you have become, and he will see how you have changed. When the time comes, I will make certain he knows how far you have come.”

“Why? Why would you help me?”

“Because though you may not know me, you are my friend. I love how you tease with Sera, and how you carve in your free time and how you make beard jokes. And for me, I _was_ the Inquisitor once. I know what you give to this Inquisition. We need you, Blackwall.”

He didn’t say anything after that. I gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze and left with the admonition to come see me if he needed to talk about anything.

 

 

Things in Skyhold settled quickly. Anyone else I wanted to give information to was out with Kirill, so I settled down with the rest of the Inquisition into a tentative kind of routine. I trained in the morning with Elias, who kicked my ass five ways to Friday, and then after lunch I worked with either Leliana or Cullen on coordinating scouts and soldiers. Even without knowing the specifics of troop movements and scouting from the game, I was able to give ideas on where to concentrate efforts and what to prepare for in the most general sense.

“You will want to prepare Charter for placement in Crestwood,” I was telling Leliana one afternoon three weeks after Kirill had left. 

“Why?” she was focused intently on the map before us on the war table. Josephine was seated calmly on across from us with a packet of letters splayed across her portion of the table, and Cullen was rubbing his temple on the other side of Leliana. I tried not to worry about him too much, but I couldn’t help but feel a little paranoid for his health. I didn’t remember him having _this_ many headaches in the game. Maybe they had just played it down for the sake of entertainment?

“This rift here -” I pointed to Crestwood Lake, “- is underwater. In order to get to it, Kirill will need to open the dam here -” I moved my finger across the map, “- and in order to reach that he will have to take Caer Bronach from the bandits that are living there.”

A knock on the door interrupted the stares of all three of them. Cullen moved to open the door, taking the message from the runner who breathlessly informed him that it was from the Inquisitor himself. Carefully unfurling it, he scanned its contents and then gave me an incredulous look. “Kirill says to prepare a force to occupy Caer Bronach, and asks that someone pour a . . . bucket of ice water on Ila?” 

I laughed outright, having been doing just that. “The rain is _not_ my fault!” I protested. “And I did warn him, a little!”

Leliana was shaking her head. “I must admit, the more you speak the more I find it difficult to disregard what you claim to know. I even had my people look into what you told Josie, and they found the contract detailing exactly the terms you expressed.” She made a face at Josephine. “Although _someone_ is loathe to let me do anything about it.”

“Thank you, Leliana, but I have the situation well handled,” she demurred with a small smile.

“Do you know of any other assassination attempts?” Leliana asked.

“Besides the one aimed at Celene? One . . . one that I can think of,” I frowned. “Two, actually, but the second is very dependent on the situation. Well, so is the first, but hopefully the first _will_ happen because then the second will most likely not and the second is the only one you would need to worry about.”

“That is the most intensely discomforting series of statements I have ever heard,” Cullen growled. “Will you at least tell us who they are directed at?”

I shook my head. “It would not make sense if I did. I would say who, and you would want to know why, and the why has not happened yet and would be very difficult to attempt to explain. I am afraid I must ask you to trust me.”

“Trust is hard to grant anyone in such trying times,” Josie murmured. The other two nodded their assent.

“Perhaps if we knew more about you? You have been here for almost three months, and have made astonishing improvements in your training and been of tremendous aid to our soldiers, but we still know very little about _you,”_ Leliana interjected.

I raised an eyebrow. “Anything in particular?”

“Tell me of your family.”

Well that was direct. Something was motivating her, but I had no idea what she was hoping to hear. “I grew up with five brothers, one of which died, as you know.” I ignored Cullen and Josephine’s slight gasps of dismay; they hadn’t been there for my freak out in the basement library. “And my father worked to prevent fires and help people who were in accidents, and my mother trained horses.”

“And what do you know of your grandparents?”

“Nothing. Why?”

Leliana slipped a book from her robes, and I recognized Danarius’ journal. “Several times Danarius mentions your ‘heritage’ as the key to your presumed power. He seems to be under the impression that you are descended from a powerful mage family that took refuge in your world, and that your father was the one who offered you to him.”

I sputtered. “That is impossible! I do not even know who my father is!”

“Did you not just say -”

“I was . . . taken in, by a family that I was not born to. The family that raised me was not the family of my birth. I know nothing of them, and never have,” I interrupted her. “And I cannot possibly be Thedosian, for a mage family to have spent their lives on Earth is impossible!”

“Just as impossible as a woman from . . . _Earth,_ coming to Thedas?” Josephine said softly. “And as impossible as her knowing our future because our story is already written in her world?”

I froze. That . . . that would imply a stronger reality to this whole experience than I was comfortable with. Channeling my inner Shia Labeouf while sitting in limbo of “is this real or not?” was relatively easy; being faced with a somewhat logical explanation for how all this was coming about was not so easy. “This cannot be possible,” I whispered.

“We will let you consider this. In the meantime, we will organize our troops for stationing in Caer Bronach,” Cullen stated firmly, with a warning glance at Leliana. I didn’t question his insight into my reeling mental state; I nodded gratefully and made my way dazedly from the room before anyone else could protest.

I needed a drink.

Fortunately, there were several people who were willing to help me with this endeavor, as I realized a bit belatedly that I was still essentially destitute. Bull was happy to sponsor my first night of drinking in Thedas, and seemed determined to find out if I could hold up to his standards for a drinking partner.

Varric joined us somewhere around drink four, which was something Ferelden that tasted vaguely of dirt. I gulped down the mug and eyed the bottom suspiciously, looking for a culprit for the dirty taste in my mouth. I didn’t want to just blame the liquor without properly investigating, after all; that would be just rude. 

“If you look any deeper into that cup, Lightning, we’re going to have to fish you out,” the dwarf settled himself down next to Bull, across the table from me. “Anything interesting down there?”

“No,” I heaved a sigh. Shame I had to blame the beer. “I give that one a two, Bull, and if you want to impress me I do not think anything Ferelden is going to do it.” I shoved my cup back across the table towards him.

He tipped his head back and roared with laughter. “Finally! A woman with a strong stomach. I think you’ll like this one, Bug.” He pulled a flask from his hip and I shot across the table to retrieve my cup before he poured any in.

“Hey! I want to drink, not choke to death on maraas-lok! I have not had _nearly_ enough to drink to be willing to try that.”

“Aw come on! Put some -”

“I have enough chest on my chest, thank you!” The Chargers released whoops of laughter even as I reddened. Not so much at the fact that we were talking about my chest, but more because I probably shouldn’t have said that. Luckily, it seemed that Bull had said that often enough that no one thought twice about me knowing.

Except Bull and Varric. They both leveled stern looks my way and I ducked behind my mug in shame. Maybe drinking was not the best idea. 

We were working our way through the Orlesian brews when Cullen entered. I was too far gone to keep myself from staring as he wound his way to our corner. “See something you like, Bug?”

“Perhaps. I do not think I have ever seen that man without his armor. Not since I came here, anyway,” I grinned. “Wicked Grace does not count. And neither does the morning after -” I cut off with cheeks flaming, and grasped about for a change of topic. “Wait! Varric, will you teach me how to play Wicked Grace?”

“He can teach you how to _cheat_ at Wicked Grace, but I hesitate to believe Varric even knows how to play fairly at any card game,” Cullen said from behind me. I let out a squeak of surprise and a small burst of blue blossomed across my skin.

“You know Lightning, you keep doing that and you and Hawke could be good friends. You’re exactly their type. And you wound me, Curly; one can only properly circumvent the rules if one knows them perfectly,” Varric informed us with a sly smirk.

“That is what they said about Picasso’s paintings,” I laughed. “He could only do such strange art because he understood the rules well enough to break them. And what do you mean, I am Hawke’s type?”

To my surprise, both Varric _and_ Cullen answered. “Blue!”

“What?!”

“Aw, don’t spoil the surprise for her, Cullen. She still doesn’t know about Hawke’s . . . _situation,_ and if I only ever have one up on this lady I’m running it for all it’s worth.”

“Varric?”

“Yeah?”

“I hate you.”

The table roared with laughter while I dramatically pouted, and I was vaguely aware of Cullen scooting closer. I knew my face was red, but hopefully no one would think it was more than just too much alcohol. And that certainly was part of it. After all, I never would have done what I did if I was sober. But Cullen was so close, and his smile was so charming, and everyone was having fun and I was more than a little drunk, so I did.

I kissed him on the cheek.

Now I was redder than I’d ever been in my life because I'd just kissed _Cullen's_ cheek and it was worth the tingling burn across my lips, and he was red, and Varric was whooping and Bull was roaring in laughter and then Cullen turned to me and he had this _look_ on his face and suddenly he was _kissing me._ Cullen Rutherford _kissed_ me, and I was stunned stupid and he smirked like the sexy bastard he was and then -

The smirk faded. My dazed and dopey smile fell as Cullen let out a groan, grabbed his head with both hands, and tumbled to the floor.


	20. And Then There Were . . . Two?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ila deals with the the situation with Cullen and makes a few new friends.

It was two days before Cullen’s pain was manageable enough for him to have coherent conversation, four before he was able to go back to work. Kirill and his crew came back on the third day, and the resulting blowout between the Inquisitor and the Commander was enough to send the healers scurrying about in a panic.

“You’re supposed to be _resting!_ ” roared the enraged Kirill. “You collapsed and were unconscious for _two days,_ you only just woke up _yesterday,_ and I come in and you’re bloody _working?_ ” There was a sound of papers being ripped apart, and from where I sat outside the door to the infirmary it sounded suspiciously like someone had just had water thrown at them. As to who was doing the throwing, well; that was anyone’s guess.

“I have responsibilities, Inquisitor, and as I have already missed two days -”

“During which time the Inquisition did not fall, you idiot. Rylen and Chamberterre can handle the keep for a few days. We’ve even got the Chargers, for fuck’s sake, Cullen! You will stay in that bed and you will _rest_ else I’ll have you tied down!”

“Been awhile since Thunder went off like that,” Varric grunted as he settled himself on the ground next to me. “It’s good for the kid to blow off his steam every once in awhile.” I didn’t say anything; I hadn’t actually talked to Kirill since he’d gotten back. In fact, I’d hardly talked to anyone since Cullen collapsed.

Varric sighed. “So how long have you known?” When I didn’t respond, he gently nudged me with his elbow. “Don’t gimme that silent shit, Lightning, we both know you gotta let it out before you explode.”

“I almost killed him.”

“I almost killed Hawke once. Well, actually, that was more of a weekly occurrence but I don’t think they held it against me.” He patted lightly. “Bianca here gets frisky every now and then.”

I gave him a sidelong glance and decided it wasn’t worth mentioning how little I cared for Bianca at the moment. “I have always known. I should have -” I buried my face in my hands to hide the tears that leaked out again. “I should have realized.”

_”You are wrapped in lyrium,” Solas had explained carefully. “It sings to the Commander, not loudly, barely enough for him to even be aware of; yet his body craves it still. When you are close to him, his body aches for it far worse than it might otherwise.” A moment of regret tightened his features. “You should consider . . . leaving him be, for now._

“You’ve got enough going on in your head, I’m sure Curly will forgive you for letting this slip.” A particularly vehement exclamation from Kirill made both of us wince. “Besides, his Inquisitorness is right. Cullen’s been going too hard since Haven, he needed a break. Maybe not a full-on medical emergency, but still.”

“Varric, I appreciate your trying to cheer me up, but I do not think it is working. I think I will just wait for Kirill to be done yelling at Cullen so he can yell at me.”

“He’s not going to yell at you, girl. You’re too important to him.”

Before I had a chance to ask what he meant by that, the door to the infirmary burst open and Kirill came stomping out. “If that man so much sits up, I want you to tie his ass to the bloody bed and make sure he stays there,” he growled at the healer who’d come running from across the yard when the door opened. Kirill’s copper eyes found mine, anger boiling within them and he crooked his head for me to follow him.

I pushed myself to my feet and trudged after him with my heart in my boots and dread making my chest tight. I’d almost killed his commander, the man who led his armies. If he hadn’t had any serious doubts about my being here before, well . . .

“You didn’t almost kill him,” Kirill finally said as we climbed the stairs to his quarters.

“What?” How the hell did he keep _doing_ that? It was like he read my mind!

“Cullen was already exhausted. He’s been pushing too hard to get things done, and as I’m sure you are aware, he doesn’t take care of himself the way he should so while your lyrium is aggravating his withdrawal, it is not solely responsible for his collapse and he will not die if you are in the same room.” He fixed me with a piercing glare. “Don’t even try to tell me that’s not what you were thinking.”

"Kirill, I -”

_”No,_ Ilaria. I need you too badly for you to drown yourself in guilt. Do you know what the first thing Solas told me when I came through the gates was?” I shook my head. “That Cullen was fine, but that _you_ hadn’t eaten or slept ever since his collapse. Maker, I don’t know who’s the more stubborn of the two of you, but at least Cullen is letting others take care of him, no matter how reluctantly. You are not.”

I refused to look at him. “I have done nothing _but_ let you all take care of me! I came with Dorian with nothing but my clothes! You all have given me everything I own, how is that not taking care of me?”

“You are not a simple body, Ila, and you don’t have to carry everything in your head alone, be it information about us or your past.”

“THE HELL I DON’T!” I exploded in English. I didn’t even know where this sudden anger was coming from, but I wasn’t about to try to reel it in. “I have _always_ had to take care of myself, because no one has _ever_ wanted to let me in. Marcie didn’t believe me about Hannah, my brothers never believed me about Beatrice, everyone was always my friend but all anyone ever wants is just _pieces_ of me, not _me_. I had to make my way through life with no support, on my own, and I have gone through my life fighting every moment to claim a spot in other people’s lives that was just for me and it never _worked._ I thought -” I choked on a sudden sob. When had I started crying? “I let myself believe for a moment that he might be able to love me, I let down my guard, and all of it was _fucking pointless_ because I can’t be near the man!”

Strong arms wrapped around me, and I struggled to for release for a brief moment before collapsing into the hug and pulling us both to the ground next to his bed. When was the last time I’d been embraced like this? I crumbled against Kirill, oblivious to the way my skin raged because someone was _here_ and I was falling apart and he was still _here_ and instead of letting me close off, he’d pushed me to this, _wanted_ me to fall apart and _wanted_ to hold me through this. 

After what felt like a minor eternity, I became aware of Kirill humming softly as I slowly quieted. “Tell me about Hannah?” he asked once I’d finally brought my sobs under control.

I took a steadying breath. “Hannah was the woman I almost married. She . . . we were on the same team for swimming, and she was beautiful and strong and blonde and I was so amazed a woman like her could actually be interested in me,” I snorted in disgust at my naive younger self. “It took me almost two years to realize that she did not love me, she possessed me. And when I kept refusing to sleep with her, she gave me an . . . a final word, sleep with her, marry her, or leave.” I sniffed. “I was out the door before she stopped talking.”

“You almost married a woman?” The surprise in his voice made me giggle. 

“Almost. I am . . . “ I frowned. “I have no preference between men and women. You would not believe how difficult the second game of Dragon Age was for me when it came to choosing a partner,” I giggled again.

“Is that the one that followed Varric’s book, the one about Hawke and Kirkwall?” I nodded. “You’re telling me you could choose who Hawke fell in love with?”

“In a way?”

“Who did you choose?”

“Well, I could go through as many times as I wished, so I could choose anyone whenever I wished. But most often I chose Isabela.” 

Kirill tipped his head back and laughed uproariously. “Somehow, I can’t quite picture that,” he gasped.

"She loves life!” I protested, “And she is so . . . free! For someone who was kept in a box all of my life, she was an inspiration!”

Kirill kept laughing until I swatted him playfully on his arm and went about extricating myself from the man. We both pushed to our feet just as a knock came from his door, and I was about to step into his bathing room to compose myself when he caught my hand once more. “Ila? Thank you. For letting me in.”

My eyes welled up again, damn him. “Thank you for being here,” I whispered. “And Kirill?” I glared at him. “Next time, it will be your turn, O Mighty Inquisitor.”

He winced. “Fair enough.” 

I stepped out of the room as he called for the knocker to enter, and I was splashing water on my face when I heard the startled exclamation from the other room. Upon stepping out, I was startled by the sight of Kirill with his arms wrapped around another woman as he spun her through the air, her red hair flying wildly out behind her head as she laughed in delight.

I was frozen where I stood until her sparkling green eyes caught mine and she gasped. “Cousin, who is this? Maker, is that lyrium?!” she pushed out of his grasp and I was suddenly faced with a slender woman eyeing my face closely, eyes tracing the faintly glowing lines that crossed my chin and forehead. 

I threw Kirill a slightly panicked look and he cleared his throat. “Lady Trevelyan, might I introduce Ilaria Zavetnya, our resident cartographer and my personal best friend?”

“Oh, it is so good to finally meet you!” Lady Trevelyan shook my hand enthusiastically, and thankfully did not seem bothered when I dropped the handshake as fast a possible. She stepped back into a quick but elegant curtsy. “I’m Lasair Trevelyan, and despite how Kirill might introduce me, Lasair is just fine.”

I grinned at her enthusiasm. “Ila is fine. Is is good to meet you, Lasair, and yes, that is lyrium.”

She opened her mouth to say something else but was cut off by Kirill. “You can interrogate the woman later, Lasair. You have a surprise waiting for you in the bath chamber,” he directed at me. “Cullen will be fine, but you need a break from the stress of the last few days. Come find me when you’re done, alright?”

I nodded, very much aware of Lasair’s curious gaze ticking between the two of us and not wanting to seem too horribly unstable. With a wave, I made my way out of the room.

 

 

 

The bathing chamber was quiet, several people lounging about lazily. I threw Elias a wave as he ducked into one of the steam rooms and settled down on the edge of the large pool, legs dangling idly in the water and a towel wrapped around me. As much as I liked the large pool, I still wasn’t used to bathing with men. Normally I would wait until late at night to bathe, to avoid any awkwardness, but . . . 

I sighed. Whatever this surprise, afterwards I should check on Cullen. I still couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that I’d actually kissed the man, or that he’d kissed me. It was literally a dream come true, however quickly it had become a nightmare. And then Kirill had come and somehow gotten a more honestly emotional response from me than I’d given in . . . years. I’d been overwhelmed a lot since I’d gotten here, of course, but all I’d managed to give was pieces of myself. 

Kirill had reached through for all of me, and I had no idea how he’d done it. I knew as well as I knew my own name that he was not interested in me as a woman, wanted nothing from me politically, and somehow seemed fully content to strip away my barriers. If I didn’t know for a fact that I could do the same to him, I would have been beside myself with anxiety.

It almost felt . . . _fated._ Like we belonged together, not as lovers but as partners. No matter how I came to be here, whatever the horrors I’d endured, all of it was worth it for the simple fact that Kirill and I had come together. “I do not know that I wish to wake up,” I murmured to myself.

Without warning, strong hands began kneading the muscles of my shoulder and there was a whoop of laughter just before a body careened through the air next to me and landed with a huge splash that immediately soaked me through. I was sputtering between the shock of being touched so out of nowhere and the surprise of being sudsed when a realization screamed through my head like a fucking banshee.

_My skin didn’t burn where I was being touched._

I threw my head back so fast to try to look at my miracle masseuse that I unintentionally collided with his nose.

“Ow! Maker’s bloody ballsack, that hurt!”

I immediately scrambled towards the man, only to freeze when a voice called over my shoulder. “Come now, Gare, put your fucking big boy pants on and get your ass off the ground. You owe the girl a real massage, remember?”

I knew that voice. I knew _both_ those voices. The accuracy was almost terrifying, really.

“You’re the one who got us wet, _you_ give her a massage!”

“Not a mage, idiot. I’d only make it worse, or have you forgotten what happened to Fenris when we tried that?”

“Not likely. I still can’t believe he went running through the Hanged Man like that. I thought Anders was going to blow his top, and Isabela looked like a cat just given her cream.”

The two cackled wickedly while I stared between them. “Oh, am I late? I’m afraid I got rather lost, but the garden is just starting to bloom and I wanted to pick some embrium before I -” the elf who’d just appeared was cut off with a small shriek as the man beside me bounced up and wrapped his arms around her, tumbling the both of them into the water.

I tore my eyes from the three of them when a familiar snort sounded behind me. Varric stood leaning against the wall, chest hair on full parade and a grinning more smugly than Bull after a night with the tavern girls. I stared at him, wide-eyed and jaw hanging open, then looked back at the three gleefully splashing people in the water.

Merrill, delighted, giggling Merrill with her Vallaslin and her brilliant smile, was hanging on the back of Garrett Hawke while he attempted to drown Marian Hawke.

Merrill. 

Marian Hawke.

Garrett Hawke.

I looked back at Varric. 

“Son of a _bitch._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lasair belongs to the absolutely brilliant and amazing [LasairTrevelyan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LasairTrevelyan) who lets me unashamedly play with her darling OC ^.^ She will be a fairly major character throughout, just a heads up, and from now on there will be several more cameos of OCs from various people. If you want to see one of your OCs in LB, drop by my tumblr (link below!) and drop me a message! I don't bite, I swear ;)


	21. The Theory of Impossibilities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ila has several important conversations, capped with an unexpected nighttime visit with terrifying consequences that might just be the best thing she's ever contemplated.

As a nerd in modern day America, there is this blessed moment that happens every now and again, in rare moments of perfect surprise, when a writer or a director manages to surprise the audience with something so profoundly perfect in the hopes of the characters that the viewer or reader couldn’t even comprehend that what just happened could ever have happened, and they are forced to sit there with a ridiculously delighted grin on their face for an absurd amount of time just basking in the glow of whatever just happened.

It’s like that moment in the old Justice League cartoon, when Wonder Woman finally kissed Batman and Michael and my twelve-year-old ass nearly cried for sheer joy. It’s the moment Han Solo said “I know” combined with the look on Darcy’s face when he proposes for the last time and that solid _thunk_ that resounded in my head when Voldemort hit the floor at the end of book seven. A moment of perfection that was the culmination of so many horrible events that it was impossible not to be overwhelmed in delight.

This was my entire emotional state.

My face was plastered in the most ridiculous shit-eating grin I’d ever had in my life as I watched Garrett and Marian Hawke threaten each other with bodily harm over the table in the ‘Rest. Once Varric had stopped laughing at me and I’d managed to screw my jaw back on, I’d been dried off and ushered back into my clothes and escorted to dinner by the _very_ enthusiastic Kirkwall Crew.

Garrett _and_ Marian. I’d read fics like this, but I’d never imagined the possibility of them being the fact for whatever reality I’d found myself in. They were the most aggressively hysterical siblings I’d ever met in my life; _exactly_ how I’d always imagined they would be. There was a constant one-upmanship between them, and simple remarks would be blown outrageously out of proportion. Varric, delightful bastard that he was, would drop little explosive comments whenever the energy seemed to die down, then sat back to watch the fire between the twins with nearly rapturous entertainment.

“So. I hear you know a thing or two about things you shouldn’t,” Marian plunked her tankard on the table between us and practically glared at me. I glanced around, shocked that she would be so blatant in such a public space when she interrupted my thoughts. “Everyone’s paying too much attention to the shirtless wonder strong-man Merrill,” she jerked her head to indicate where Garrett was indeed lifting Merrill high above his head while sans shirt, “to care to listen to us. So tell me; how the fuck did you get Varric on board with this whole ‘I can see the future’ bullshit?”

 _Marian Hawke,_ I realized probably a bit belatedly, _is fucking terrifying._ “Did Merrill ever fix her Eluvian?” I asked rather than answer her question.

Her eyes widened. “How could you possibly - no, you know what, I don’t want to know. Varric said you know ‘could’ve’s and ‘what if’s; you get three questions to impress me. Go.”

“Where are Bethany and Carver?”

“Dead.”

I flinched away from that question with a horrified apology, but she waved me on impatiently. “What did you think about what Flemeth told you on Sundermount?”

Now it was her turn to flinch. “And I can’t even blame Varric for that one; he kept it out of that damn book. What exactly do you think Flemeth told us on Sundermount?”

“To leap into the abyss, that only in falling will you find that you can fly.” I held her gaze as steadily as I could, ignoring the voice in the back of my head screaming _Adamant!_ I would not think of that. I _would not._

Marian stared at me, then shook her head ruefully. “I suppose I did ask for proof. If that isn’t proof, I’m a nughumper. You still want your last question?”

“You and Merrill?” I grinned.

She grinned back, instantly lightening the mood. “Me and Merrill. Love at first sight. Better than Garrett’s luck, that’s for sure, and I’d be more lost without her than him, which is something I never thought I’d ever say growing up.” She gazed softly at the elf, who laughed eagerly as Garrett tossed Varric into the air. “She’s my greatest peace, just as he’s my greatest support. And I will always need peace more than I’ll need support.”

The exhaustion evident in her momentarily slumped shoulders broke my heart. I noticed Garrett glance our way, and not a moment later Merrill was sliding into Marian’s lap, wrapping her hands around the woman’s neck. Garrett bounced into the chair beside me and leaned in conspiratorially.

“What did you do to piss off the Vint, Lightning?” 

I swallowed at his closeness. I was _never_ prepared for especially attractive people to be so close to me. The only reason I hadn’t been a bumbling mess the other night with Cullen had been because I was tipsy. I didn’t have liquid spirits right now, though, and I was tongue-tied for a moment before I comprehended what he said. “Wait, what Vint?” I threw a quick survey of the room.

Dorian stood just inside the door, staring dolefully at me. My gut wrenched instantly with guilt, and I pushed away from the table immediately and strode across the room towards him. To his credit, he knew me well enough to look utterly terrified as I grabbed his sleeve and hauled him out of the tavern and into the currently empty infirmary around the corner. Once we were alone, I released his sleeve, pivoted on one foot, and slapped him as hard as I could.

“I . . . deserved that,” he admitted ruefully as he rubbed his cheek. 

“Yes, you did.” I glared at him. “You kept the journal, the only thing with any explanation for why I am here, a secret. You kept my ipod, something you had no way to understand or use and something you _knew_ had to have been mine, a secret. And you told Mae, someone I have no reason to trust, information about me that she used to manipulate me from across the world, even after you _knew_ I wanted nothing more to do with Tevinter. You called me your sister, Dorian, and that is not how you treat a sister.” I let out a deep breath. “Your turn.”

Without hesitating, he pulled me into a tight hug, my thin tunic doing practically nothing to protect my skin from the contact and I whimpered softly at the suddenness of the embrace. “You accused me without being willing to listen, screamed at me in full view of the entire Inquisition, and then left without a word and ignored me for _weeks._ If you really want me for a brother, that’s not how a sibling acts.

“We did it to _help_ you, Ila. The other magisters didn’t understand what happened at the gala, and were calling for your head. 

I had tears running down my face, and from the wetness on my forehead, Dorian did too. “Are we good?” I sniffed.

He gave me a slight squeeze. “Yes, soror. I’m sorry I kept everything from you, I hardly knew you at first and then it always felt too late.” There was a pregnant sort of pause for a moment. “I don’t suppose I can have my crystal back now? I do miss talking to Mae.”

I snorted. “If you let me go.” We pulled apart and I sighed with relief. “I promise not to slap you again,” I said ruefully.

He grinned. “Now dearest, don’t make promises you can’t keep. Besides, it’s hardly the first time I’ve been slapped by a beautiful woman. If it didn’t happen on a semi-regular basis I think I’d start to get concerned.”

I laughed. Things weren’t entirely fixed, but we both knew that things could move forward again. “Dorian?” I asked as we walked together back toward the keep.

“Hmm?”

“I love you.” Seeing him go a little wild around the eyes, I snorted and hastened to reassure him. “Not like ‘I want to sleep with you’ love you, much more ‘I am so glad you are part of my life’ love you. Do you know who I loved most in all of my friends I made in all the games, before I ever truly met any of you or even thought you were real?” He shook his head. “I loved you. You were always so kind, and so positive, and so . . . so _you_. You were exactly the sort of make-believe friend I needed, and then now you are _real_ and we are friends and you call me ‘sister’ and I felt so alone and I just - I needed you, and I never really thought I would meet anyone like you, and now here we are and I am so very glad to be your sister, Dorian.”

I reached out, holding my hand towards him and he gently held his above mine, palms hovering just inches apart. I ignored the misting in his eyes, and he ignored my horrendous sniffle as we both fought to contain ourselves.

“Will you stay up with me tonight? I’ve finally managed to wrangle a second chair into my corner of the library, and I was planning on doing some research before we head out again.”

I shook my head. “I think I need to go find Cullen and drag him back to the infirmary before one of the healers finds Kirill.” Catching his look of pity, I cut him off before he could offer any condolences. “Do not do that, Dorian. I could hardly have expected my life to be the fairy tale ending. I would rather he live to find someone else than be selfish enough to try to hold on to someone I could only destroy.”

“You, dearest Ilaria, deserve nothing less than the fairy tale ending, and I will trip you into the bed of the most handsome and adoring man I can find if I have any say in it.”

“Only if I get to trip you into Kirill’s,” I smirked as he stumbled on the stair and swore vigorously. “Go do your research,” I laughed, “and I will possibly be by later if you are still awake.”

He left me at the top of the stairs to the keep, and I spent a moment looking out at the grounds of Skyhold lit by the easy fluttering of torches, the faint scent of smoke hovering in the night. I took a deep breath, marvelling not for the first time at the freshness of air not tainted with car exhaust and factory fumes, the smells of a city hosting more than eight million people. The stars were hidden behind a veneer of clouds that heralded more of the rain that had been so prevalent as spring wore on. Elias, who had been born in the Frostbacks, assured me that summer would be beautiful beyond measure, that the river in the valley where the army was encamped would be crystal clear and perfect for swimming in.

I still missed planes, though.

With a sigh, I made my way back down the stairs and across the courtyard to the ramparts. Stopping briefly to speak to a guard outside of Cullen’s office, I quietly entered his quarters and was unsurprised to see him at work behind his desk.

“I thought Kirill said you were to rest.”

He started, his quill dripping ink across whatever document had him so entrenched and muffled curses filled the air. “Ilaria!” he exclaimed. “I apologize, I was just finishing up a, uh, thing,” he finished lamely.

“A thing. That is incredibly specific, Cullen.” 

“I strive for excellence,” he said with a tight smile. 

Awkward silence descended between us. I knew what I wanted to say, knew it was important, but it was always so much harder to actually get the words out.

“Cullen, I -”

“I wanted to -”

We both stopped, then let out rueful laughs before I gestured for him to speak first.

“I wanted to apologize,” he said softly. “For the other night. I should have had more restraint, you were inebriated and I shouldn’t have taken advantage like that.”

I stared at him. “Cullen, are you serious? I kissed you first!”

“On the cheek!” he protested, red creeping onto his cheeks. “And look how I responded!”

“I _wanted_ you to respond that way. I just didn’t think you actually would.” I couldn’t look at him. “You are . . . you are wonderful. You are kind, and caring, and loyal and you work so hard to be a better person and you have been through so much _shit_ and you deserve only the best. And I wish that I could be part of what makes you happy, but I believe it is fairly obvious that this will not work, seeing as I will kill you if I stand too close.”

“Ila . . .”

“And that stinks. A lot. Because you are important to me and I cannot help you without hurting you, but I wanted you to know that I will help you in whatever ways I can and I still want us to be able to somehow have some sort of friendship even if the closest we can ever be is with me at the door and you at your desk.”

He was staring at me, and I was staring at the floor. If I looked at him, I might cry, especially after my heart-to-heart with Dorian. “I would like that,” I heard him whisper. 

I nodded resolutely. “Now, would you care to tell me why you are here and not in the infirmary before I go out yelling for Kirill?”

“Maker’s breath, Ila, I’m only doing some paperwork. I’ve had a headache, I’m _fine_.”

“You had a seizure! You need rest! Kirill _ordered_ it, you jackass!”

He gestured to the piles of papers on his desk, a small smirk tugging one corner of his mouth. “I have a job to do, Ila.”

“A job that will wait one more day.” I stomped quickly across the room, grabbing the nearest pile of reports and darting backwards. “Say you will rest, or I will throw these from the battlements.”

The humor in his face dried up instantly. “Ila, you can’t do that!” 

“Watch me!” I thrust my hand through the wall, lyrium bursting blue and lighting up the room. When I pulled my hand back and he saw the papers gone, he jumped from behind the desk, stopping only when I stood myself in front of the door. “Promise me you will go to bed, or I will do it again,” I threatened.

“Move,” he growled. 

“No.”

“Ila!”

“Cullen!”

“Cullen, the cook said she didn’t have any of that Antivan brew you liked, but that the Nevarran should do just as well for - Oh! I’m sorry, am I interrupting?”

Lasair stood in the opposite doorway, carrying a tray laden with simple foods and two steaming mugs. “Of course not,” I hastened to assure her. “The Commander was just about to go and rest.” I shot him a stern look, then noticed the familiar tension between his brows. “Cullen, step back to the desk, please.”

He gave me a look of outrage, then visibly checked himself and retreated. “If you still feel the need to call the Inquisitor, shall I inform him of your destruction of important documents so that you can be punished along with me?”

“You can _try_ ,” I grinned impishly.

“I’m sorry, but Ila, are you actually _glowing?_ ” Lasair asked in wonder.

“A bit,” I admitted. After a moment of intense concentration, I managed to calm the lyrium until only a trace of the light remained. I frowned at the stubborn markings briefly before turning my attention back to the other two.

“Maker, that’s fascinating. Can you describe how you’re able to control the lyrium? Is it a matter of willpower, or is there some sort of spell you can use, like the Litany of Adralla?” Lasair’s face was lit with wonder.

“Willpower, mostly. I think. If you wish, then I can meet you after training in the morning and we can talk lyrium for as long as you like.” The woman had the most wonderful enthusiasm, and I was utterly charmed as she eagerly accepted my offer. “And _you_ ,” I pointed a stern finger at Cullen, “bed! Go now, without arguing, and I will give back your reports.”

“Only you would promise the impossible,” he grumbled, then let out a surprised exclamation when I rapped twice on the door and retrieved a pile of papers from a somewhat green looking guard. Seeing a hand appear through a wall might have been a bit much for the man, now that I thought about it. With a sigh of exasperation, Cullen threw up his hands and made a show of climbing his ladder. Lasair and I settled our loads onto his desk, nodded our goodbyes, and left through opposite doors into the chill night.

A drizzle melted away any sense of anger that remained. I felt like I’d given up a childhood dream, and now was being washed clean of all that I’d placed in that dream. Cullen was everything I’d always imagined, but there was no doubt that we were never going to have a future more intimate than waving at each other across a room. It was a release, almost, though I could hardly say why I felt that way.

I walked quietly across the ramparts, taking the long way back to the keep that would bring me past the garden. Soft rain on leaves was one of my favorite noises, and I didn’t always have the chance to simply enjoy nature the way I wished. I settled myself on one of the benches under the covered walkway and stared idly at the lyrium tracing my hands as I listened to the rain fall.

“Fenris always said it looked like a river of ice carved into his skin,” a voice spoke in my ear. “A river of ice that burned like fire.”

“Garrett,” I smiled up at the man, somehow not even surprised that he was here.

“Does it burn you the way it did him?”

“Every time I am touched,” I confirmed, trying to ignore the way the phrase instantly send Cascada running through my head on a loop. Honestly, sometimes there really were things I’d rather _not_ remember. The juxtaposition of sitting in the garden in Skyhold and having Cascada stuck in my head was more than a little disconcerting.

“Do you trust me?”

I turned to face him. “From what I have seen, I probably should not. You are overly fond of pranks and mayhem.”

“Only when the occasion calls for it,” he smirked.

His voice was a perfect match with my memory. His voice, his bearing, his beard. I loved his beard, if I was being honest. Up close, he looked far more serious that his demeanor would have anyone believe, and I was suddenly struck with complete understanding as to how a goofball like him and his sister could be so renowned, so instrumental to the rebellion as symbols; there was something terrifying and more than a little entrancing about someone who laughed in the midst of their greatest pains. “I trust you,” I whispered.

He smiled slightly and gently took my hands in his own. Before I could even bite down a protest, a dull glow emanated from his hands and a soothing chill permeated into my skin, soothing the lyrium until all I felt was his cool hands on mine.

For the first time in almost a year, I felt touch with no pain.

I gasped, trying to hide my tears of sheer _relief_. I wasn’t a person meant to be isolated from others the way I had been; I loved hugs, holding hands, and had always been the person to constantly brush against others and lean against them for the simple comfort of being physically close to someone. It had been so long now, so long since I’d done anything of the sort, I had given up thinking that it would even be possible unless I forced myself to endure the pain. 

Now I had touch with no pain. And it came from the incredibly strong and tender hands of Garrett Hawke.

 _I need to stop considering impossible men,_ I admonished myself.

“Oh, I don’t think you do,” Garrett replied, and I instantly went beet red when I realized I’d spoken aloud. 

“What -”

A hand cupped my cheek, blessedly cool and so, so gentle that I unconsciously nestled against it in relief. “Sometimes the universe uses two impossibilities to create one spectacular _possibility_ ,” he murmured in my ear.

“How many times has that actually worked for you?” I asked without thinking, blushing harder at my own cynicism.

“More often that it hasn’t,” Garrett grinned at me. “But you shouldn’t worry about it; I’ll be here when you’re ready.” And with that cryptic statement, he left me alone in the rain.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ila falls face-first into a surprising relationship and is forced to start questioning what she wants from life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS SO LATE I'M SORRY! I've said it before, but swim season is NUTS for me. Fortunately, there's only like two weeks left and then things will calm down for a while until summer. In the meantime, have a longer chapter! With some fluff! (also, side note, i'm tired and currently giving up the battle against chapter titles. They might come back. Probably won't, though XD )

Garrett Hawke was _everywhere_ after that. And not in a bad way, where that weird guy from the apartment blocks around the corner is always watching you, but in the best way, like when you’re the little nerd girl in high school and the really nice really hot star football player won’t stop smiling at you and only you. I would get up in the morning, walk out into the library, and be greeted by a smiling Hawke lounging on a chair across the rotunda. We’d get breakfast, I’d go to train with Leliana and Elias and would catch glimpses of Hawke moving around the courtyard. Sometimes with Varric, the two of them laughing and talking earnestly with their easy friendship, and sometimes with Marian and Merrill.

Kirill would kidnap me for lunch if he was home, and we’d hide out in his rooms in order to avoid the growing number of panderers that infected Skyhold and talk about anything and everything that came to mind.

“What do you want to _do,_ Ila?” Kirill asked one day, about a month after he’d brought the Hawke’s home. I was lounging in one of the amply cushioned chairs by his desk while he went through reports, idly reading the ones that caught my attention. Rylen and Rikki apparently had a sort of competition going on to see who could garner the most sympathy from Cullen, and their back and forth through their reports was hysterical. 

“Hmm? What?”

Kirill sat back in his chair and interlocked his hands behind his head, regarding me with a steady and somewhat inquisitive gaze. “You’ve been here for four months now. You train with Leliana, you attend war meetings, you help out with reconstruction and renovation and you read. You also write, though so far no one who’s seen your writing can decipher the language, but I can’t help but feel that you’re a little . . . lost, for lack of better term.”

I lowered the report in my hands. “I am not certain what you want to know, exactly.”

“What did you do back in America? Did you learn, study for something? What was your . . . your goal? What did you live for, strive for?”

I stared at him for a long moment before responding. I spent so much time _not_ thinking about home that pulling up what he wanted to know was almost like swimming through molasses. “I was an actress,” I finally told him. “In theatre. I studied to be a performer. I wanted to perform in the most famous theatre in my country, and I wanted to be on stage for the rest of my life.”

I hadn’t told anyone this. Dorian knew I could perform, of course, not just from my aria at the gala in Tevinter but also from the night I’d sung for the sailors, but I had never talked about my hopes and dreams from New York before. The experience was oddly disquieting.

“Why didn’t you go back to the same here? I’m sure Josephine could help you return to theatre if you wanted to, but . . . you never even mentioned it. Why?”

“The Inquisition is more important. _You_ are more important.” I searched for the words to describe what I wanted to say, hoping that I didn’t come across as a freak. “I have known the people here for many years. I know what the Inquisition faces, what Hawke faced, what the Hero of Ferelden faced. I know their companions, their friends, their struggles and their triumphs. When I found myself here, I wanted to be part of the story. I wanted to stay and help.”

“The Inquisition won’t last forever, Ila. You’ve told us yourself that the fight will be done with by the end of next year. What will you do when this is over? Where will you go?” When I didn’t say anything, he shook his head and let out a small sigh. “You don’t have to have an answer now, but I think it’s something you should think about. You’re drifting out to sea, Ila, and I’d hate to for you to drift so far that you can’t swim back.” Pushing himself away from the desk, he rose and came around to kiss the air next to my cheek. “I have to speak to Mother Giselle. Do me a favor?”

“Of course.”

“You should have dinner with Garrett. He’s driving everyone mad, he won’t shut up about you. And I’ve seen the way you look at him, Ila, and I think you need to stop telling yourself it’s impossible. You obviously like him, and I can guarantee he’s not going to run away just because you’re scared of being in a relationship.”

I flushed. Kirill and I had almost instantly had this strange rapport with each other that made it feel like we’d known each other our whole lives rather than a few months, but it was still horribly disconcerting to be called out for things I tried not to let other people see. “I will have dinner with Garrett if you have dinner with Dorian,” I retorted.

“We’re having dinner tonight. Should I warn Garrett that you need to talk to him?” he winked at me as he made his way to the stairs. I threw one of my cushions at him, and he ducked down the stairs with a laugh that echoed even after the door shut behind him. I stayed in my chair long after he left, considering what he’d said. 

To be honest, I’d felt much of what he talked about. My life was entirely routine; there was the nebulous promise that if I kept training I’d be able to fight with Kirill, but did I want to spend the rest of my life fighting? What would I do after the Inquisition, if I lived that long? Join a mercenary band? Prepare for the fight against whatever Solas envisioned?

Perhaps the theatre was something I could return to. I knew there were theatres; Josephine took the Inquisitor to a show during the Exalted Council. And I was a _good_ actress, maybe even a great one. All I lacked was experience. I did miss performing, the endlessness of rehearsal after rehearsal, the closeness of the cast and crew and the satisfaction of a performance gone well. The elation when the audience screamed their cheers at the final curtain call.

I sighed. _Start with what you know._ I knew how to sing, how to act. I knew how to cook, but nothing like anything I’d eaten here. I knew how to run a noble’s household, I realized with a jolt of surprise. My mother had trained me to be a horse trainer, and my father had trained me to be a First Responder, both of which could be incredibly useful here. I was strong. I was arguably intelligent.

None of this answered the question. With an aggravated huff I pushed myself out of the chair and descended the long stair.

 

 

A few hours later I found myself kidnapped and dragged to the tavern by none other than Krem. Apparently, Bull was severely disappointed in the way our previous night of revelry had ended, and was determined to get me drunk for real this time. I wasn’t entirely thrilled until Krem mentioned that Kirill had picked out a brew for me himself; the prospect of getting to try Dragon Piss was enough for me to race Krem back to the tavern.

The ‘Rest was far livelier than I was expecting; Kirill had declared the next day to be a rest day, so anyone who didn’t have to be on the first guard rotation (and a few who did, from what I overheard) was packed in, along with anyone in the keep who didn’t have to be doing a vital job in the morning. Several tables had even been dragged outside, since the evening was clear and the first warm winds of summer were beginning to flow gently through the mountains. Krem and I squeezed past several crowded tables to the corner where Bull and the Chargers had claimed the first day the tavern opened.

“There she is! Take a seat, Bug, and get yourself a load of this. Boss said you’d need it.” Bull indicated the chair next to him and then shoved a tankard into my hand as I sat down. “I’ve been meaning to ask you; you’ve only been fighting for six months or so, right?” I nodded, unsure where he was going with this. He gestured at my shoulders. “Your build. The way your shoulder blades have separated, that doesn’t happen in six months. If you weren’t fighting, what were you _doing_?”

“Swimming!” I laughed.

He fixed me with an almost stern look. “That was a serious question,” he rumbled.

“That was a serious answer,” I replied easily. “Do you know how to swim?”

“I know how to not drown.”

“Close enough. How long have you trained to fight?”

“Since I was old enough to learn.”

“And did you practice every day?”

“Of course.”

I noticed the Chargers hanging on our every word, several nodding along. No doubt a decent mercenary would have a similar tale. “I started swimming when I was a child. I practiced every day, for several hours, and as I got older I would sometimes practice more than once a day. Two hours of practice, five days a week, for almost twenty years. That’s . . .” I did some quick math. “Over ten thousand hours. Add another two thousand for the years that I did doubles, and I have enough experience to say that I am almost certainly the best swimmer in Thedas.”

“Bull _shit_ ,” called one of the Chargers, and his disbelieving exclamation brought barks of laughter from the others.

I had to giggle. “If I had a suit, I would be willing to prove it to you,” I offered.

“You can’t swim in your underthings? People do it all the time,” said a dark haired woman with daggers strapped to her back. 

“If I swim in normal clothes, they will rip off.”

“Then the only solution is to swim naked,” came a far too eager voice from the outskirts of our company. A far too eager voice I recognized instantly, and fought desperately to hide my blush.

Bull came to my rescue. “Hawke! Grab a seat, you’re just in time for introductions.” Garrett sat down across from me with a wink as Bull started calling out names, the owners of which would call out or raise a mug in response. “You’ve both met Krem, of course, and that fellow on his right is Grim.” Grim grunted and I stifled a giggle. “Antivan in the corner wrapped around her pint is Sophia, elf behind her is Stitches. Twins are Bjorn and Tanner, next to them is Dalish and Skinner. That dwarf right there is Rocky. There’s a few more, but Cullen’s asked for some help with a project down in the encampment so they’re off taking care of business.”

“Dalish? Nice bow,” Garrett said with a wink. The elf raised her cup to him with a grin. “Good crew. Nice work putting it together, Bull." Bull raised his tankard in response. Behind us, Maryden started up a lively tune and Garrett's eyes lit up as he looked at me and held out a hand. 

Holding my breath, I took his hand.

Garrett swept me into the dance, happy boyish grin on his face and the ghost of his laughter trailing after us. Maryden was playing something joyful and bouncy, and the way Garrett held my hands I felt like I was being pulled right through the air. The room spun in a blur of color, the sounds of other people’s laughter and speaking mingling with the music in a way that felt completely at odds with anything I could ever remember hearing. When the crowd started stomping and clapping along to the beat, I relaxed and laughed for joy.

I spun back around to Garrett and unthinkingly pulled myself closer. His brown eyes, so warm and soft, flickered mischievously and before I could pull away his hands were on my waist and with a quick bend of his knees I was tossed bodily into the air.

Now, I am not a small woman. I am, in fact, rather large. Out of my five brothers, I was the second tallest at six feet, and I had them all beat when it came to the width of our shoulders. My dad used to laugh when my brothers teased me and say ‘She’s tall, broad, and made entirely of muscle. If you can’t beat her, don’t tease her!’ I had never been _thrown_ in my life.

I shrieked like a three year old child. I don’t even know if it was a terrified shriek or a delighted shriek, because I was still stuck in _What the fuck is happening?!_ by the time I came back down into Garrett’s arms. I instantly latched onto his neck, my shriek becoming this embarrassing kind of screaming laugh that mortified me the second it came out of my mouth, but an instant later Garrett was swinging us around and twirling me back to my feet with a flourish.

”Oh my God. Oh my actual God,” I babbled in English. ”I don’t know if I want you to do that again or if I’m too scared I’ll piss myself next time.” My head fell to his chest with a thud as I steadied my thundering heart.

”Did you know your entire voice changes when you speak Tevene?” 

“No,” I responded before I registered _how_ Garrett had said that. I shot my eyes to his. “Did you just speak Tevene?” I gasped.

A corner of his mouth pulled up into a sort of half smile. “Fenris taught me as an exchange for teaching him to read. I’m not as good as he was, but I’m good enough to say I’m fluent.”

I gaped at him, but before I could pull something coherent a familiar and dreaded twinge in my back stabbed me like a bolt of electric reality.

Garrett noticed something was wrong immediately. “Ila? I’m sorry, have I -”

“No!” I twitched in pain. How long did I have before this got bad? Right now, it wasn’t too awful but I did a quick rough count of all the steps up to my tiny room in the library and wanted to cry. “It is not your fault, I have a problem with my back sometimes and it -” I inhaled sharply as my back twinged painfully. “- is not pleasant. Can you help me back to my room? I do not think I will make it on my own,” I admitted.

“Yeah, of course. Arm over? Arm under? No arm?”

I snorted a laugh as he tried to figure out how to help hold me up in a way that wasn’t painful. “My arm over your shoulder, your arm around my, uh, chest, but in back?”

“Shoulders? Got it.” In just a second we were arranged and moving slowly from the bar, me waving off a concerned Krem as we exited the tavern. Every step pulled the muscles in my back tighter, and I was so focused on the pain that I didn’t even notice I’d started whimpering a bit up the steps to the main hall and it was to my shock that Garrett directed us not towards Solas’ rotunda, but out to the garden.

“Garrett, where are we going?”

“You are not going to make it the three flights up to your room. My room is closer, and no stairs required. Plus, I’ve seen your room, and my bed is definitely bigger and there’s no way I’m letting you sleep in that cot you think is a bed.”

“I cannot sleep in your bed!” I gasped.

“Why not?” I didn’t even have to be looking at him to know he was grinning. When it became clear that I was obviously struggling to find words, he laughed. “Tevene, Ila,” he reminded me.

“I can’t sleep in your bed first of all because that would mean you can’t, and second of all, I’m pretty sure people here would react the same to me sleeping in your bed as they would back on Earth,” I rattled of in English.

“And what kind of reaction would that be?” he led me through the garden, thankfully lit by several torches, to a door next to where I figured the small Chantry had to be.

“They’ll think we’re sleeping together,” I said bluntly.

“And this is bad how?”

I stopped abruptly, forcing him to either stop beside me as well or let me fall. “Garrett. I don’t want to have sex with you.”

I thought he’d be appalled. I figured he’d at least be disappointed, and take me back to my own room. I was terrified that that was what he wanted, that he only wanted to help me and be around me because of sex, when every time I saw him I felt like part of me was exploding for joy. 

I thought it’d been just because I was excited to meet him and Marian. Except it kept happening. The fact that he was the only person who I’d been able to touch freely since coming to Thedas helped, but it was more than that. I like being around him, I liked talking to him, I like making faces at him when I caught him watching me and both of us giggling like maniacs from across a room. He made my days better, especially when Kirill and Dorian were gone, and I was so afraid that now that I’d said that he’d leave me alone.

He raised an eyebrow. “Alright? I don’t remember asking you for sex.”

I stared at him. The torchlight caused his eyes to flicker between almost black and almost gold. It was . . . mesmerizing. “And you’re still ok with me staying here?”

“Unless you want to battle three more flights of stairs to sleep in your tiny cot?”

“Not particularly?”

He pushed open the door and led me inside. “Alright then. Let’s get you comfortable.”

I was basically dragged across what looked like a sitting room into what could only be his bedroom. An armor stand straight across from the door was decorated with a familiar set of armor, a jar of red paint sitting on the desk next to it and a staff capped with a blade that had to be two feet long leaning against the massive bed. “The ambassador insisted,” he explained, switching back to Common. “Apparently instigating rebellion across the known world gains one a bit of standing.”

“Garrett I have never in my life seen a bed that big. And I spend time in Kirill’s room!”

He laughed, pulling me over and helping me settle myself onto the down mattress. I must’ve sank at least a foot into the mattress. “What do you need? Should I grab your nightclothes? Water? Favorite pillow?”

“Water would be nice. There is a quilt that Harding gave me on my bed, the one with all the blue patches, that I would love. I do not, ah . . . I do not have nightclothes,” I admitted, going pink.

He raised an eyebrow at me. “Why not?” he asked slowly.

“No time?” I shrugged. “Leliana and Kirill found me some day clothes, and some leather armor, and Kirill gave me weapons, and the scouts all put together necessary items for me but . . .”

“But?”

“Nightclothes did not make it. And I get so hot, I usually end up sleeping -” I coughed, my cheeks going from pink to red. “Not fully dressed.”

He frowned at me for a moment before turning and walking out of the room. A moment later he returned with his arms full of clothes. “Pick what you want, I’m going to run and grab water and your blanket. Don’t go anywhere before I come back, and don’t worry about getting too hot tonight.” 

He was gone before I could ask what was going on. I pulled myself so I was sitting back against his headboard, taking all the extra pillows (and there were a _ton_ ) and arranging them so that my feet could be lifted up when I stretched out before sifting through the pile of clothes. In just a moment I’d found a lovely simple nightgown that was easy to pull over myself without much effort, and had thrown the rest and my own clothes to the corner of the room before settling back to wait for Garrett.

I was dozing when he came back, still sitting up and waiting for him. I started a bit, lyrium glowing faintly before fading back to normal. Without a word, I slid myself slowly down so that I was laying flat, legs draped over the pillows I’d moved so that Garrett could cover me in my blanket. I felt like a sick child being cared for by a loved one.

Once I was comfortable, Garrett stood by the side of the bed and held out his hand.

A soft glow suffused his hand, then drifted like fog towards me on the bed. I held my breath and watched, entranced, at the magic as it spread across me and settled into the blankets before vanishing. “What did you do?” I asked sleepily.

“Keeping things cool,” he said softly. “Marian sleeps warm too. Let me know if it’s too hot or too cold, and I’ll adjust it.”

“That is amazing. We need something like this on Earth.”

“You can’t keep your blankets cold?” 

I shook my head as he blew out the candles. I didn’t have any problem seeing him in the dark, and I watched curiously as he moved about the room methodically stripping out of his layers. I had a split second to wonder where he was planning on sleeping before he settled himself into bed beside me.

I froze. I’d never in my life shared a bed with a man before, much less one I very much wanted to be closer to. “Is this alright?” he murmured. 

There was plenty of space; I couldn’t deny that. He wasn’t even particularly close to me. I nodded, not trusting myself to speak before realizing the room was probably too dark for him to see. “Yes,” I squeaked.

His fingers, cool to touch, brushed mine before intertwining in my hand. “This?” he asked softly.

I squeezed in response, definitely too frazzled for coherency. He seemed to understand. We lay in silence for a time, my heart racing too fast to let me sleep. I thought he’d given in when he gave my hand a small squeeze. “Ila? Can you sing something for me?”

I hadn’t sang for weeks. Not since the ship to Jader. I thought through my song collection, discarding any showtunes and half a dozen love song lullabies before settling on a song I’d sung over and over again with my brother Brandon. We hadn’t agreed on a lot of things, especially about the church, but worship was the one place we’d always come together.

I took a deep breath, struggling to recall the music I hadn’t heard in almost a year. The first notes finally came to mind, and I sang quietly into the dark. “You called me out upon the waters, the great unknown, where feet may fail. And there I found you in the mysteries, in oceans deep, my faith will stand.”

By the time I’d finished, Garrett was asleep, and in seconds, so was I.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been away for far too long!!!!! *hugs all of you so hard* I am so sorry this has been so neglected the last few months, but swim season is killer on my life with me working 16 hour days coaching on top of work on top of school on top of CFS and I've basically been endlessly crushed by a whale for a while but! I am recovering! I have energy! Swim season ended a month and a half ago! My CFS flare is (potentially, but now a strong potentially) finally ending and I feel _fabulous._ As ever, I have a lot more of the story written, I just have an unfortunate habit of working backwards so while I haven't been not-writing, I have not been writing things that will progress the story from this end. The good news is that once we hit Halamshiral almost everything is done and updates will be smooth sailing to the end ^.^ We're still a ways away though. 
> 
> This chapter is longer than normal! This length also might end up becoming a normal thing so prepare yourselves for potential monsters in the future when it comes to chapter length. Lots comes out of this chapter though, so pay attention for later on! ^.^

I woke up to a disgustingly sore back and the familiar feeling of weight pressing into my shoulder. I gave the weight a drowsy nudge. “Delu, ge’off, m’back hurts.” When my nudging was met with indifference, I let out a small huff of annoyance and bent my attention to wiggling my arm out from under their body. “Delu, m’not Disney this morning, _off.”_

A small chuckle rumbled into my abdomen and a muffled voice responded. “I don’t know what a ‘diznee’ is but I have a feeling I want to find out.”

I shot to awareness. The fuzzy feeling of being in my Manhattan apartment evaporated as my eyes shot open to see the cozy confines of what was, for all intents and purposes, a medieval bedroom.

With an exceptionally handsome man draped across half my body.

My expression must have been priceless, because Garrett chuckled and then leaned up to kiss my forehead before rolling off of me. “Morning, Ila. Good dreams?” he asked as he pulled the heavy curtain aside to let in the morning light.

Garrett Hawke, the Thedosian equivalent to Jason Momoa in everything but his face, was standing shirtless, bathed in the morning light as it streamed into a dusty room and lit the trillions of particles in the air, and suddenly I knew _exactly_ what Stephanie Meyer had been aiming for with her ‘sparkly vampires’ thing. The sight was practically unreal.

“No dreams,” I managed to choke out with someone normalcy once I’d found my voice. I started to try and push myself upright. “I do not dream. Not since coming here.”

“Here as in the Inquisition, or here as in Thedas?”

“Thedas.” I gave up and collapsed back onto the bed with a huff of annoyance. My back was killing me.

“That’s strange,” Garrett plopped down beside me again and slid an arm behind my back to help lift me upright. “Not at all? No impressions, sounds, random flashes? Just . . . Nothing?”

“Sometimes I wake up and it feels like I have had a bad dream,” I admitted. “But there is never anything I can remember.” I tried to lean over the edge of the bed and grab a simple dress from the pile of clothes, but hissed when my back spasmed and carefully righted myself again. Garrett quickly grabbed the dress and helped me stand so I could change. 

“Will you need any help changing?” he asked, and I was a bit startled to see his cheeks go pink. “Are you alright? Do you need anything else?”

“Now that I am standing, I will be alright,” I assured him. He nodded and grabbed clothes for himself out of the dresser and went out into the sitting room, leaving the door open in case something happened.

“What exactly is wrong?” he called as I pulled the nightgown off and slid the simple white dress over my head. 

“There was an incident, many years ago.” My voice was muffled by the fabric. “I was badly hurt, and my muscles in my back are not as strong as they once were. I have exercises that help, but I have not truly done them as I should in . . . “ I trailed off, letting the dress fall as my fingers automatically started braiding my curls back to some semblance of order as I mentally calculated the months.

“Ila?” 

I started. Garrett stood in the doorway watching me, and I realized I hadn’t said anything in several minutes. “Oh! Sorry. I had not realized . . . Did you know that I have been here for a year? Or, almost a year. Or possibly a little more than a year?” I frowned.

“Is that a good thing? Or a bad thing?” Garrett watched me closely, brown eyes full of concern.

“It is an ‘I do not know how I feel’ thing. I had not realized I had been here so long. I wonder what it is like back home.” 

Whether purposefully or not, I had avoided thinking too much of home. Not knowing how I had gotten here meant not knowing how to get back, and not knowing how to get back meant that I tried very, very hard to avoid thinking of what must be changing while I was gone.

My emotions swelled up before I could ignore them again, and all the thoughts I’d forced myself not to think about flew through my mind all at once. The tattoos across my body started thrumming and pulsing. What was Delu doing? Did they have a new roommate? Were they still working with the teams on Broadway, or had they finally broken into Hollywood like they’d always wanted? Were Taylor and Marinette still together? Did Jaime remember his promise to go to the midnight premiers of Star Wars? 

I was never going to see the new Star Wars movies! Rogue one was supposed to come out this winter, or last winter, or whatever the fuck winter it was anymore. I still hadn’t seen Hamilton, Brandon had said he’d take me for my birthday but . . .

I didn’t even know how old I was anymore.

I was shaking uncontrollably, my back twitching awfully when Garrett grasped me by the shoulders. In the next moment, I felt a strange sort of pull and watched in awe as blueish mist from my lyrium streamed into him. The thrumming across my body eased immediately. “Breathe, Ila. Slow. Just breathe.”

My hands flew to his arms, clutching to brace myself, anchor myself in the present. _Skyhold,_ I forced myself to take a deep breath. _Lyrium._ Another. _Garrett Hawke looking at me with the sweetest puppy eyes._

The harsh blue light faded. “I am sorry,” I whispered in mortification.

“Didn’t expect it to come back all at once, did you? Let me guess, you haven’t thought about it since you came here.” 

I shook my head. The breaths were coming easier now. “Tried not to.”

His hands slid down my shoulders and wrapped loosely around me, pulling me into what was quite possibly the most comforting hug I’d had in my life. “I did the same when we left Ferelden. Didn’t want to think of what we’d left, the Chantry in Lothering, the little garden mother was always so particular about. The Landros family down the road, my best friend Daniel, that stupid goat that always tried to eat my lunch when I was in the fields.” He rubbed my back calmly, whether for his sake or mine I could hardly tell anymore. “We had to leave behind Father’s grave. Mother never talked about it, but it was harder on her than she ever let on. She wasn’t the same after he died. None of us were, really.”

“I raised plants,” I admitted. “ _Succulents_. I do not know if anyone took care of them. My brothers; Zachary and his wife were expecting a baby, and my best friend and I were going to go travelling that day. I never got to see the northern lights, or find my cottage by the sea with the covered porch where I could watch the storms come in. My cat!” I exclaimed. “She was with my mother, oh I hope that vile woman did not do something to my poor cat!”

We stood in silence together, his chin on my head and my arms wrapped around his waist. My distress slowly faded even as my lyrium had, and having someone tell me I wasn’t crazy was assuring in a way few things were. Having someone to hold, and not wanting to pull away from pain, was a gift so great in that moment that I don’t think Garrett completely understood what he was giving me. The thought that Garrett Hawke was the one comforting me in Skyhold in Thedas would have been so absurdly improbable back home that I started giggling.

Garrett pulled back, cocking an eyebrow. “Something funny?”

“I am in hysterics in the arms of the Champion of Kirkwall,” I grinned. “Do you know how impossible that is?”

“Probably about as impossible as me having just slept with the singularly most unique woman in Thedas, I’d imagine.”

I hesitated at the flood of warmth that filled me. “Is it . . . is it wrong that I am alright with this so quickly?” I asked.

“Alright with what?”

“This,” I gestured between us. “We just spent the night together. We did not _do_ anything, and it happened because I am hurt, but . . . I am comfortable with you, Garrett Hawke. More comfortable with you than almost anyone else. And I definitely do not wish for this to be like what I have with anyone else.” My face flushed scarlet. _Why did you just say that?_

He grinned, this adorable little half-smirk thing that made my heart melt a bit. “Well, that’s a relief, because otherwise this would have all been very inappropriate and Kirill would have possibly killed me.”

“So this is ok? Me being a mess in front of you, you giving me hugs?”

He laughed. “So long as you’re ok with me often being an ass and also sleeping on you.”

I was positively giddy. I’d only ever dated once before, and that had been a disaster; everything about this, despite the still-inherently crazy setting, felt _right._

The moment was ruined by my stomach making a surprise shout-out. We both laughed a bit and pulled apart. “Breakfast?” Garrett asked lightly, offering his arm.

“Absolutely.”

 

 

As much as I would like to say our budding romance was at least semi-private for a time, there was no such thing as ‘privacy’ in mine or Garrett’s lives. He helped me into the main hall and we were met instantly by a Varric’s piercing and wholly too knowledgeable gaze. No sooner had we sat down were we waylaid by the inquisitive author who peppered us with vaguely suggestive questions that had me blushing far too hard for the fact that we hadn’t actually done anything too inappropriate.

Kirill walked through with Harding, caught a glimpse of us and did a classic double take before giving me a ‘We’re so talking about this later’ look. Leliana was the next one to corner us, stopping by on her way to whatever meeting was happening in the war room. “Is this why you did not appear at training this morning?” she asked slightly menacingly.

“No!” I ducked my head in apology. “Last night, we were dancing and I did something to my back and -”

Her tinkling laugh cut me off. “I jest! Marian informed me what happened. Rest assured, there is no hard feelings. We need you healthy if you are to continue to help us.”

The stomping feet of the Commander himself brought silence to the table as Cullen stormed by, pointedly not looking at us. I flinched. “Do I need to be in this meeting?” I asked nervously.

“No,” Leliana frowned. “Though he has no right to be jealous, given that he is so distracted by his newest recruit.”

“Newest recruit?”

At that moment, a sweat-soaked Lasair in armor flopped into a chair at our table. “Why did I decide to take up training again?” she groaned. 

“I’m sure it had nothing to do with your commanding officer,” Garrett winked at her, causing her already red face to flush a shade darker. “But in case it did, you should definitely ask him about the templar parade. Not for any particular reason,” he smiled innocently. “It’s simply a wonderful story I’m sure you’ll enjoy.”

Lasair eyed him warily before grinning. “I think I will, thank you messere.” She pushed to her feet. “I need to wash before I meet with -” she cut herself off and shot me a suspiciously wide-eyed look. “- Madame de Fer.” She waved as she turned to walk away.

“And I am late,” Leliana excused herself as well.

“That was . . .”

“Odd,” Garrett finished for me.

“Yes.” I frowned. Lasair had to meet with Vivienne? Why would that cause her to look at me so strangely? I liked Lasair; she was honest and open and lighthearted in a way that reminded me of Marceline. If Vivienne was holding a grudge . . . Well. I could never compete with Vivienne. She was brilliant and driven while I was definitely not brilliant and apparently driven backwards.

Garrett escorted me back to the garden after winning the argument that my room was up too many flights of stairs; I was willing to try until he offered to bring me down some of my blank papers so I could do something constructive with my unexpected free time. 

Kirill had asked what I wanted to do. By the end of the day, I was determined to have an answer for him.

 

 

Two days later, I was still answerless and increasingly frustrated. Nothing I was interested in doing was realistic, and anything realistic I wasn’t interested in doing. I could return to the stage, but in order to do that successfully I would have to relocate to Val Royeaux or somewhere even more remote, and by now I was friends enough with everyone I didn’t want to be so far away. Not to mention I had no plans on leaving until after Corypheus. Heck, probably not until after whatever it was that was going to happen with Solas, if I was being honest with myself.

If that meant I was to stay here, I didn’t want to freeload on the Inquisition. The only skills I had that would be of use, however, was as a physical trainer (which they already had plenty of) or a horse trainer (which I refused to do). Sera’s inquiry into why I refused to train horses led to a drunken night of bitching about adopted moms, and I woke up the next morning curled up with her on her bed with a very amused Krem informing me that just because my mother trained horses for a living did not mean I had to spend my life shovelling her shit.

I threw a pillow at him.

My back was less than happy about my night with Sera, but I got her to help me out to a corner of the training yard where I could force my uncooperative body to do yoga. The fact that it’d been roughly a year since I’d done it regularly and I’d only just now had an issue was a minor miracle, but I wasn’t about to make that mistake again. Sera even joined me, though her version of yoga involved much more tumbling and giggling than mine did.

Ultimately, it was Blackwall that gave me the best insight.

“What was it you said about Tevinter? That your . . . Danarius had you learning?” he asked as he sanded down a piece of wood and eyed it critically.

“Fighting. Self defense, language, politics. A bit of etiquette, but I knew most of that already.”

“No, before that. You mentioned something about helping the household, the Steward?”

“Plutonius, yes. And Ivana. We ran the household together, decided meals, bought food, organized the staff and guests and such.” I fidgeted. What had happened to them after the gala? I was ashamed that I hadn’t thought about them since. They had been kind.

“And did you enjoy the work?” Blackwall set aside his small piece and picked up his tools to return attention to his rocking horse. Not that anyone could tell it was a rocking horse yet; I was cheating.

“I . . . yes?”

“Perhaps you could speak to Leliana. Seems to me like you’d make a fine stewardess, or even a seneschal.”

That was undoubtedly the best idea yet. At dinner that night with Kirill in his quarters, I asked him what he thought and got a completely unexpected answer.

“No. You would be a _terrible_ seneschal, Ila.”

I gaped at him, affronted. “I happen to think I would be a fine seneschal. I thought you asked me to decide what I wanted!”

“I did, but you don’t want this. You’re taking the first thing you think you can do, not what you want; you’d be bored, Ila. Being a seneschal would be the most boring job ever for you after two weeks, and don’t even bother trying to tell me I’m wrong.”

“I’d be fine!” I wilted a bit. I thought Kirill, of all people, would be on my side, especially now that I actually had a semblance of a plan for the distant future. I couldn’t deny he was right, however; boredom would be the death of me, and the repetitiveness of a steward’s life might just kill me eventually.

Kirill set aside the reports he’d been reading and came around the table next to me. I saw him reach out as if to touch my shoulder, but he hesitated and pulled a chair beside mine. “Ila. From what you’ve told me, you know so much about Thedas because you had literally nothing better to do after your accident. Your interests in theatre, in sports, in these _games_ you played, the books you’ve read? You are a young woman with more knowledge in her head than anyone I’ve ever met. Much of what you know is strange,” he admitted before leaning forward so our faces were close together, his copper eyes boring into mine and his beard quivering with the intensity of his face. “But a mind like yours is _wasted_ as a seneschal.”

I exhaled sharply and leaned forward so our foreheads touched, pain be damned. “Alright,” I whispered, disappointed to be back to square one.

A knock interrupted us before I could speak. “Enter!” Kirill called in his authoritative voice. It amazed me sometimes how well he was able to switch between gentle, caring Kirill and The Inquisitor. 

A runner came up the stairs and saluted smartly. “Letter from Lady Trevelyan, Inquisitor.”

“Thank you, Higgins. Did she say anything about what progress they’re making?”

“In the letter, I believe, sir. And she said -” his eyes darted to me and he blushed faintly, “-that Messere Hawke is has taken a personal interest as well.”

“A personal interest in what?” I asked, glancing at Kirill. He pointedly ignored me, eyes scanning the letter.

“Excellent. Thank you, Higgins. Are you off at the next bell?”

“Yes sir.”

“Enjoy your evening, soldier.”

Higgins grinned. “Can I take that as an order?”

“By all means,” Kirill laughed. “And tell Cabot your first drink is one me!” he called down the stairs.

“Always do!”

Kirill chuckled. “Cheeky bastard, but he’s solid gold for morale and him and Glennon are one of the best fighting pairs we have.”

“Kirill.”

“Yes?”

I gave him my best ‘don’t fuck with me’ look. “What _was_ that?”

“What was what?” he asked with an innocent little smile. The effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that he was trying not to laugh.

“Why did he act like I was a snake in the room and what is this ‘project’ Garrett is personally interested in? Is that why he has been so busy the last few days?”

“Would you like to find out?”

“Yes!” I said, exasperated.

Before I could take it back, I was being whisked away (slowly, granted, because there were so many stairs out of his room and my back did not appreciate stairs) to the main hall, down to the kitchens and into one of the narrow hallways that hollowed the giant walls of the keep. “Where are we going?” I laughed as we plodded along.

“You know the eastern tower?”

I nodded. “The one that had to be completely rebuilt? They finished last week, did they not?”

“They did. I know the timing could be better, but are you ready for another set of stairs?”

A narrow doorway opened up on our left, and Kirill indicated for me to go up the spiral staircase tucked within. I have no idea how far it went exactly, but we passed two other doorways that Kirill waved me past before saying “This door leads to the battlements.”

“Directly?” I huffed.

“No. Office, like Cullen’s tower.”

“For who?”

“For whom,” he corrected me, “And we haven’t decided yet. Keep going!”

The next floor was personal quarters, but it was the last door that made me stop in my tracks before Kirill even had the chance to open his mouth.

“Kirill,” I breathed. “What have you done?”

My fingers traced the beautiful dark stained wood of the door, marvelling at the intricate artwork painted delicately into the grain. It absolutely did not belong here, could not have been more out of place. Seven stars ringing the branches of a delicately crowned tree.

The Tree of Gondor was painted on the door.

Kirill silently reached around me and gently unlatched the door, pushing it to swing open. The sight of the room beyond caught my breath in my throat. It was _beautiful;_ large windows faced the lower courtyard below, looking out towards the setting sun. Beautiful tapestries of rich blues and forest greens hung on the far wall, and to my left was was a double stained glass door to a balcony that would face the sunrise. A large, voluminous bed with what could only be a down comforter stood in the corner of the room, a desk next to it.

My hands were at my cheeks in shock. There was no way, no possibility that this was for me, yet I could think of no other reason for that symbol to be painted on the door. 

A hand at my back directed me towards to the left, where I saw another door that lead to a beautifully tiled room with a full bathtub, large enough for someone as tall as me to lounge in comfortably and I knew just by looking that it would cover both my knees and my boobs in water with no problems. The bathroom was almost modern, and was draped in delicate white curtains to cover the bare expanses of stone on the walls.

“These runes will warm your water,” Dorian spoke from behind us, and I whirled around. “And should you prefer a colder bath, these will suffice instead.” He tapped the runes I hadn’t noticed etched into the rim of the tub. “And we couldn’t quite understand what you meant when you told us about ‘showers’, but if you pull this,” he pulled a cord hidden among the drapes, and water began sprinkling from a pipe along the ceiling. “It turns on a small waterfall.”

My eyes sparkled with tears I was determined not to let fall. “Oh, Dorian; it is _perfect_ ,” I whispered. 

“There is more to see,” Vivienne swept into the roof and ushered me out. “Your wardrobe has been severely lacking. Not without reason, of course, but the fact that you have no gowns of your own in all the time you’ve been here is a problem I have been delighted to rectify.” She pulled open the doors to the standing wardrobe and I gasped. Dresses, simple ones for regular wear and some that were certainly meant for special occasions were arranged precisely inside.

She turned to face me, clasping her hands before herself delicately. “I owe you an apology as well, my dear. I treated you poorly, and in return you offered me a gift of unequaled measure. If there is anything I may help with in the future, you have only to ask.”

I shook my head. “There is no need to apologize, please. I would have been concerned as well. Did you . . . ?” I wasn’t sure how much the others knew, or if she wanted them to know, so I let the question drift.

“I enlisted the aid of a rather uniquely talented Friend,” she smiled softly, and I noted how she emphasized the word ‘friend’. “And the proper ingredients are already on their way.”

“Oh, Vivienne, I am so glad!” 

She gave me a speculative look, much more kindly than any she’d given me before. “As am I,” she finally said.

“There’s more!” Kirill stepped in before awkwardness could settle in. He lifted the lid of the trunk that sat at the foot of the bed, and inside lay several sets of leather armor, boots, and gloves.

And all with the emblem of the Inquisition scouts.

“You would make a _terrible_ seneschal,” Kirill repeated. “But a _spymaster_ , on the other hand . . .”

I stared at him. “I cannot be a spymaster!”

“Why not?”

“Because . . . because . . .” I struggled to find words for my insecurities, and was slightly miffed to realize that the only reason I could think of for not doing it was that I didn’t think I could. “Because I do not blend in,” I finished lamely.

“Sometimes standing out is the best way to hide,” he said. “Leliana says you are ready to try the field. You have experience leading teams -”

“Swim teams!”

He continued as if I had not spoken. “And have more than adequate knowledge of the goings-on in the world today. We trust both your instincts and your rational decision making skills.” He pulled out a letter from inside his tunic. “As soon as you are healed, you will depart Skyhold with my team and I to Redcliffe, and from there will continue with your own team to Denerim. Queen Anora has written to us for assistance in handling a matter of Venatori infiltrators to her court.”

I was in a daze. So much was happening at once. Venatori in Denerim? I knew about that. I would hardly need to do any investigating; for this, all I would need to do was direct my team.

From Kirill’s smug face, bastard already knew it, too.

I took a deep breath, looking around the amazing suite I’d just been given and the three people who were here for the giving. I exhaled slowly. 

“Tell me about my team.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for anyone over here who reads any of MaryDragon's stuffs (link below somewhere) you might have recognized a few brief cameos of some of her babies ^.^ Two by name, one by title if you were paying attention. I am a bona fide OC thief. You've been warned. Almost everyone who offered me their OCs will get a glimpse of them in the next chapter with much more than glimpses to come, and I think the only ones that don't make it into the next chapter all show up at Halamshiral.


	24. Chapter 24

My hair whipped at my face as I laughed breathlessly into the wind, feeling the power of the horse beneath me and barely watching the land fly past me. To ride a horse, full gallop, was such a heady feeling of freedom, such a nostalgic part of my past even as I literally rode to my future. I wanted to ride forever, to never let this feeling go away, this feeling of complete and utter etherealness, of being so much a part of everything happening around me.

I closed my eyes and rose from where I’d been leaning practically against my horse’s neck, pulling lightly on the reigns to draw him to a slow stop. I breathed in deeply; everything felt _new._ Like I’d somehow been rejuvenated. The air was shockingly clean, the bird calls were more beautiful than any I’d heard before, and the water of the river I’d come to was so clear I could see everything beneath the surface.

“Ila!” I looked back and laughed as Kirill joined me, breathing hard and sweating buckets from his exertion. The red flush of his face combined with his red hair and customary red armor all sitting atop a massive chestnut draft horse would have been an almost gory image if I hadn’t known he was doing it on purpose. “I thought you said you didn’t travel by horse where you’re from,” he wheezed.

I grinned. “I grew up on a horse . . . Horse place? Where horses are raised? I have been riding since before I was walking.”

“So have I, and I’ve never seen someone ride like that.”

“That is right, the Trevelyans raise horses, correct?” It was on their coat of arms, if I was remembering right.

“Yes.” He forced himself upright atop his horse and took a long drink of water before pointing off into the distance. “See those hills?” I nodded. “Just past those hills, down to the left a bit is the Crossroads.”

Excitement bubbled in my chest. “The Crossroads? The Crossroads in the Hinterlands?” He grinned back. “We are in the Hinterlands right now?” I gasped. No way. No. Way. “How long have we been in the Hinterlands?” I demanded.

“Since yesterday.” He roared with laughter at the glare I leveled at him. “We’re almost to the camp at the upper lake, and Leliana already sent a raven ahead to warn them to expect us.”

“We are not going to Redcliffe tonight?” I asked.

He read the disappointment in my face and grimaced. “No. Sorry Ila. You won’t be going to Redcliffe at all, I’m afraid. At least not this trip.”

“Kirill.” I glared at him. “What the fuck.”

He didn’t say anything, just turned his horse and started down the road towards the Crossroads. It was weird; we didn’t usually avoid talking about things. Kirill made sense to me; I made sense to him. This? This did not make sense.

I trotted after him. “Is this about my argument with Charter?”

“No.”

“Lasair and my kitchen mess?”

“No, Ila.”

“What Garrett and I did to Marian before we left?”

He fixed me with an exasperated look. “What did you and Garrett do to Marian?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly, meeting his gaze innocently. “Just be sure to avoid mentioning her hair next time you see her. If you will not speak to me about it . . . Is this about Dorian?” I drawled his name.

“Ila, stop.” 

_Nailed it_. “What is wrong with Dorian? I thought you two had dinner forever ago, and you have been spending all your time in the library ever since.”

“Spending all of my time in the library _reading,”_ he growled. “And helping with _research._ And trying, Maker help me, to pull together the courage to actually invite the bloody man to dinner.” He refused to look at me.

“Kirill! Why did you say nothing?”

“You spent the night with Garrett. And the next day. And almost every day since. And you were hurt, you were moving into your suite in the tower . . . I didn’t want you to worry about me and my happiness when you should be focusing on your own happiness.”

I reached over and smacked his armored chest. “No. You do not get to do that. You do not get to act like a . . . a person who insists on being sad. I am here. I know most of what you are dealing with and I have _offered_ to help you. _Let me_. Please.”

We rode in silence until he reached over and took my hand, kissing it and then his forehead on our hands. I silently blessed Leliana for insisting on my wearing thick leather gloves. I slowly put the pieces together. Redcliffe, Dorian, Kirill’s indecision . . . “You spoke with Mother Giselle,” I said softly.

“Yes.” He sighed and released my hand.

I imitated his sigh. “I like her. I do. But she is _awful_ about him.”

Kirill snorted. “To put it lightly.”

“Kirill. This . . . this is going to be difficult.” He looked over at me in concern. “In Redcliffe? This will be hard for him. And hard for you, given what your father has said to you before. Whatever decision you make on how you handle the situation, so long as you support him you will be alright.”

A knot of tension released inside him. “Thank you, Ila.”

“And take that boy to dinner or I will do much worse than smack you next time.”

He laughed. “Alright.”

“And you have to make it up to me for not bringing me with you to Redcliffe so I can punch someone.”

“Anyone in particular?” 

“You will know him as soon as he opens his fat mouth.”

We came to the crest of the hill we’d been climbing, and my jaw fell open in shock.

To begin with, the lake was _beautiful._ Pristine, absolutely clear, with that wonderful crisp smell of clean fresh water that was so impossible to find back home. I could very faintly hear the waterfall on the far end of the lake, see the remnants of a destroyed camp that had sat as lookout to Valammar itself. And to my left, just past where the lake flowed down into the valley of the Hinterlands, the telltale fires of the upper lake Inquisition camp.

I couldn’t breathe, the thought of everything I knew so well being _so close_ and the idea that I could _actually touch these things_ overwhelming me in this moment. The Deep Roads were beneath my feet, Valammar was a quarter mile to my left, Redcliffe within riding distance and camp and the Inquisitor himself, our teams riding up behind us. Three mages, staffs strapped to their backs, two rogues, and three warriors. 

A fennec trotted out of the brush and loped to the lake, leaning down to take a long drink.

It was _amazing._

Kirill smiled indulgently at me as I began a babble of questions, each one coming faster and more excited than the last. Had he cleared Valammar yet? Was that the actual cabin where he met Blackwall? I hadn’t realized it would be so warm, but it _was_ summer, so was this normal weather? Had he found Lord Woolsey yet?

“Lord who?” he laughed. A brilliant gold ram suddenly charged out into the open a hundred yards from us, and I simply pointed with a grin.

He was still laughing about Lord Woolsey, once I’d finished telling the story, as the rest of our group finally caught up. 

“Ho, Gracious Lord and Lady! Deign thee to allow these humble ones your presence, or shall you turn and gallop forthwith once more?” called out a familiar voice that had warmth bubbling in my chest.

“Nay, let the humble approach, for the Lord and Lady are in a manner most forgiving in this moment,” Kirill boomed back. I shot him an exasperated look; it was hard enough for me to follow Garrett’s dramatic language without Kirill egging him on. Second language? Fine. But King’s Speech was technically my third, and going archaic on me was just _rude._

I watched as the rest of the party came into view; Garrett rode at the front with Varric, to absolutely no one’s surprise. Behind them came two brothers from Highever, a couple of farm boys-turned-mercenaries that Leliana had swiped from Cullen that included the ever-steady Higgins. Cullen was no doubt furious over losing these two; not only were they two of the most reliable men I’d ever met, but they were a perfect fighting pair. Glennon fought sword and shield, and Higgins had a knack for dual wielding pretty much anything, and with Glennon to guard his back they were downright terrifying.

Dorian and Cole brought up the rear with the most surprising addition from Leliana; a member of the Valo-Kas Mercenaries, a giant of a woman with elegant twisting horns and a countenance fit to have a despair demon fleeing in terror. The Tal-Vashoth was a lightning mage, which was astounding in itself, but it had been her name that had initially had me practically having a heart attack.

Keram Adaar had joined my team, apparently having missed the Conclave due to a freak accident involving an overly excitable templar in Jader.

I was not about to complain.

“So nice of you to join us!” I grinned as the group trudged their horses up the hill to us. Garrett gave me an amused glance, and I winked at him as he leaned over to whisper something in Varric’s ear. The dwarf threw me a startled glance and then burst out laughing.

Kirill smiled as well. “The camp is just on the other side of the lake,” he pointed to where the smoke from several fires was visible. “We can cross by the island, it’s shallow water the whole way. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I am more than ready for a hot meal.”

The others chorused their agreement and we all followed as Kirill led towards the shallows. I couldn’t stop from staring around me, at the beauty of the forest and the lake, the hills in the distance and the sun started to sink towards the horizon. And the water! I couldn’t get over how clear it was!

I’d led Peanut into the water up to my calves, once again reveling in how damn resilient my clothes were. Leliana had assured me that my armor down to my socks could survive any environment I put them through, including water. The heat of the late afternoon was finally fading, but the water was refreshingly cool on my legs.

Garrett drew up beside me and before I could so much as turn and smile at him, I found myself flung from Peanut’s saddle and plopping most ungracefully in the water with a shriek.

“Garrett Hawke!” I sputtered as I righted myself and pushed to my feet. He was leaning on his saddle horn, laughing so hard he was practically in tears. 

Hot damn, but he was _gorgeous._

With a grin of my own, I sloshed forward as fast as possible and before he could get himself under control I pulled him in off his own saddle, barely managing to dance back in time to avoid him landing on me. He came up with a yell of mock rage and launched himself at me.

Now, when it comes to picking fights with me, there’s a solid three things that just shouldn’t be done. One, don’t start the fight, because I have no qualms finishing it, whether it be a fistfight or a tickle fight. Two, I was scrappy even before Leliana started training me in hand-to-hand and more real fighting techniques, not to mention I now could make myself incorporeal, which was incredibly useful for avoiding boyfriend-attack-launches at me. Third and most important?

Don’t pick a fight with me in water. 

I pulled on the lyrium as I twisted away from Garrett’s lunge, and he went face first into the water once more. I took the opportunity to pull my boots off, hurtling them at him and forcing him to dodge and giving me time to strip my socks and make sure the ties on my vest and pants were as tight as they could be.

As Garrett followed suit in stripping, Keram, Higgins, and Glennon were wasting no time joining us, though they (wisely) were doing their change on the shore. Varric was watching with a mixed look of disgust and delight, and I got the feeling he would be writing this all down when we hit camp later. Kirill was taking care of the horses with Dorian, who was positively aghast at our antics.

“Dorian! Kirill! Join us!” I shouted. An arm wrapped around my waist and I was lifted into the air and pulled backwards back into the water. I pushed away, twisting out of Garrett’s grasp and flinging away only to be faced with the incredibly intimidating grin of Keram. “Keram, do not -” I let out an ear-splitting scream as she lifted me, almost effortlessly, and fucking _pitched_ me into deeper water. I hadn’t been thrown like that since I was _five years old._ I didn’t know if I should be thrilled or offended.

“Ila! What’s the matter? Come back to the shallow water!” Garrett called, laughing with Keram and the knuckleheads. 

“I do not think so!” I shouted. “Why do you not join me instead?” I tread a bit deeper.

I could see the challenge light up Garrett’s eyes, and he started wading out to me, then swimming, and finally throwing himself through the water in the most ineffective type of ‘swimming’ I’d ever seen. 

“Hawke, I’m not certain that’s a line of pursuit you should attempt!” Dorian called from the shore. Garrett paused briefly, saw my shit-eating grin, and apparently decided he didn’t care much for Dorian’s warning.

I waited until he was about five feet away before I inhaled sharply and dropped underwater. I waited until his thrashing had stopped, then carefully came up just behind him and flung my arms around his neck, dropping both of us underwater before bringing us both up again. Higgins and Glennon were cheering from the shallows, and Keram was floating happily a bit farther away.

“Gotcha,” I breathed into Garrett’s ear in English.

“You sure?” he gasped, thrashing every which way before stopping, panting heavily. “Alright, you got me. Let me go?”

“Only if you ask nicely,” I laughed.

“I have excellent manners,” he protested, then reached back and managed to get a hand between us and tickling me fiendishly. I pushed him away with a shriek of laughter. He turned to face me, sun glinting off the water in his hair. “Bet you can’t beat me back!” he shouted as he turned and started thrashing himself back towards the others.

I went ahead and gave him a ten yard head start before launching after him. Four strokes to catch him, one to tap him on the head, and another two to be far enough ahead that he couldn’t even hope to catch me. I was sitting happy in the shallows by the time he crawled in, collapsing on his back next to me breathlessly.

“How in the Maker’s name did you do that?” he demanded.

“I’ve never seen anyone move like that in the water,” Higgins dropped next to me, Glennon following. Keram stayed in the water, but was close enough to listen in. “It was like . . . like you were some sort of fish.”

“You remember what I said that night in the tavern?” I directed at Garrett.

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you were _serious.”_

“Twenty years. Twenty years of nothing but water, the same way you trained with a sword and Glennon with his shield,” I nodded at Higgins and Glennon. “Or them with magic.” I flopped backwards, thoroughly enjoying the water that lightly lapped all the way to my the base of my skull. 

“Why would anyone devote such time to the skill? It can neither feed you nor keep you safe. Drowning aside,” Keram added.

_Shit._ I exchanged a mildly panicked look with Garrett. They weren’t part of the ‘approved to know Ila’s from another world’ squad. I hadn’t even thought about it. “Love of water, I guess. I have always lived near water, and learned early that the best way to keep people from drowning was to be able to teach them to swim. You must know how to do something before you can teach others, no?”

She regarded me seriously and slowly nodded. I gave an internal sigh of relief as well as a smack to the back of the head. _I must do better,_ I berated myself. I didn’t think anyone took that as the whole truth, but I definitely wasn’t the only one had secrets. If I wasn’t going to tell them outright then they weren’t going to push it until it became an issue.

Hopefully it never did.

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to [dreadwolftakeme](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dreadwolftakeme), [hedgehogtier](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hedgehogtier), and [erinlynn](http://archiveofourown.org/users/erinlynn) as well as the rest of the Awesome Squad cause y'all are so supportive and wonderful and let me throw ideas at you all the time and put up with my rambling ^.^
> 
> AND AND AND I started a companion fic to go along with this, it is called Lyrium's Boon and can be found [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7540330/chapters/17144071)
> 
> Hugest of shouts and mad pointing to [MaryDragon](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryDragon), her fic [Keep to the Stars](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4651176/chapters/10609854) is The Literal Best, YOU SHOULD READ IT IT'S AMAZING Gwen is my spirit animal. Absolutely.
> 
> ALSO feel free to drop by my tumblr, [therutherfordwife](http://therutherfordwife.tumblr.com/), and ask questions or send prompts or just say hi ^.^ I promise I am not a terrifying person. Mostly. ;)  
> Also the crazy awesomeness of [Slothquisitor](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Slothquisitor/pseuds/Slothquisitor) and [LeChatRogue673](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LeChatRouge673/pseuds/LeChatRouge673) and [LasairTrevelyan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LasairTrevelyan) for being wonderful cheerleaders and making me feel like there's people that actually are SO EXCITED to read my writings *huge hugs*
> 
> Also *evil laughter* with Blue ^.^
> 
> also I am a glutton for comments they are my absolute favorite thing ^.^


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